Never the Same
by Alatariel Palantir
Summary: This story picks up almost right where Snakehead left off. Will the infamous Alex Rider live a normal life? Or be recruited back into M16's service? Read to find out!
1. Chapter 1: Being Normal

**DISCLAIMER:** Anything belonging, referring, or part of the Alex Rider series does not belong to me. In fact, Anthony Horowitz wrote the series, so it seems that it all belongs to him. 

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter One: Being Normal**

Sabina Pleasure brushed past Alex Rider into the main hall. She continued to the kitchen, where she gave Jack Starbright a quick hug. Both seated themselves at the table that was set for three. Alex stood there, bewildered.

"Aren't you joining us, Alex?" An amused Jack asked innocently.

Alex collected his bearings. "Yea, um, coming." He quickly closed the door and made his way to the table. He unfolded his napkin, sat down, and they all said a quick prayer.

"So, Alex, I take it your feeling better," Sabina commented after an awkward moment of silence.

"Yea, loads better." Alex was stumbling over his words, babbling like an idiot.

"I hear Glandular fever is particularly atrocious," Sabina added with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"How did you know I was sick?"

"Oh, I stopped by your school was I arrived, and a friend of yours, Tom Harris, told me you were out sick."

The rest of the night flew by with the same mindless chatter, the clattering of silverware, and the tinkling of laughs. Thinking back, Alex cannot remember a single detail; his mind turned to mush.

It was all too soon when Sabina politely excused herself and got up to leave. Alex walked her to the door, where her ride was waiting. Alex watched her leave down the steps, when suddenly she halted, turned, and ran back up to him.

"I'll miss you Alex," Sabina whispered, throwing her arms over him. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Sabina," Alex answered. "I'll…I'll see you soon." Thinking this as an appropriate moment, he bent down and gave her a soft kiss, which she returned.

An eternity later, they broke apart. Sabina ran to her car, turned, and gave Alex a final, solemn wave.

On Monday, things changed for Alex. As soon as he entered his homeroom, the sadness that had plagued him on the weekend from his separation with Sabina soon diminished as he saw his old friends for the first time in a long time. Tom Harris was the first to see him. He whooped, jumped out of his seat, and rushed over to Alex.

"Alex, man! So glad you're well again! Man, Glandular fever! Horrible, horrible! My uncle had it once; then he died," Tom said too loudly, with a conspicuous wink. Alex laughed.

The class soon became out of control. Seemingly everyone wanted to know what Glandular fever was like. The questions made Alex uncomfortable. He'd never liked lying to his friends.

"Class! Settle down! Settle down!" The teacher, Mr. Burke was making a vain attempt to quiet the class. Finally, everyone quieted down enough for Mr. Burke to take roll.

"Alex Rider!" Mr. Burke called out and looked up, surprised. "Oh, you're back. Why were you gone this time?" He fumbled with the papers on his desk. "Oh, it seems you've had Glandular fever."

"Yes, sir. Nasty little work, it was." Alex tried to sound as convincing as he could. Mr. Burke grunted in reply.

The rest of the day would have dull and dreary for any other student. Besides Alex Rider, that is. He'd found the classes exciting, his friends accepted him like he'd never been gone, and his normal life was great. It was ironic how this schoolboy life was more thrilling and inviting to him than his business of being a spy.

_This is the life,_ Alex thought many times throughout the day. He could live like this forever. Of course, him being Alex Rider, he wouldn't live like this forever. Alan Blunt and M16 would soon be after him, wanting his help to "save the world." But, Alex didn't like to think of that. It would ruin the moment.

And, in fact, life was normal throughout the rest of the semester and all the way through the Christmas holiday. He'd finally caught up on all of his schoolwork and was really starting to enjoy life. His days were spent blissfully and wonderfully. He was a regular London teenager, just as he'd always wanted to be.

He should've known better. Those days were always numbered.


	2. Chapter 2: Bleak Surprise

**NOTE: I'm so sorry it took so long to get this posted! I've had some computer issues the past couple of days, but I promise Chapter Three will be ready in a couple of days! Thank you all for your comments! **

**DISCLAIMER:** Alex Rider and everything pertaining to the series _still_ belongs to Anthony Horowitz, no matter how hard I try to make it all mine.

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Two: Bleak Surprise**

It was a cold Tuesday morning, the day after his first day back since Christmas holiday. Snow was falling rapidly, sticking to the sidewalks, parked cars, and even to the fast-moving pedestrians.

Alex was one of them, pushing his way through a vast body of people, on his way to school. He was already running late; he had two minutes to walk five blocks. He aimlessly wondered whether he still had a tail on him, but he hadn't seen anyone since the day he saw a young-looking man on a street corner, seemingly waiting for a taxi.

_Well, no one will be able to follow me on the rate I'm going,_ Alex thought. Alex didn't exactly feel as if he was in danger, but he felt vulnerable in the open air. He sure didn't want to get shot again.

A minute and fifty-eight seconds later, Alex burst through the school doors, merely missing the late bell. Mrs. Bedfordshire gave him a scornful eye, but he'd ignored it. Alex slipped into his seat just as Mr. Burke started attendance.

Throughout the day, things were completely normal and how it should be. The teachers no longer gave Alex warning looks in the halls; he was caught up on all work he missed. Alex no longer had to explain to every curious person about his prolonged absence. He had to tell no more lies about his bout with Glandular fever; no one longer cared. He was being his true, normal self. Well, if being a teenage spy is normal.

During third period, while Mr. Ellsworth was giving a monotonous lecture about the Ancient Egyptian Empire, Alex stared out the window, watching the snow fall. He would never wish it, but, when he was a spy, he never had to sit in a droning classroom. Something exciting was always happening.

_Do I really wish to work with M16 again?_ Alex wondered. _After all that?_ He quickly shook the idea out of his head. There were too many cons of being a spy. Alex started to list him in his head:

_Never being able to live normally_

_Being on guard all the time_

_Never knowing who your real friends are_

_Never having the chance to hang out with friends_

_Possibility of death_

_I had made the right decision to stop playing "spy boy" with M16, _Alex concluded. He turned his attention back to the pyramids and their pharaohs.

Suddenly, every thing changed from good to much, much worse. It all happened so quickly, Alex never had time to react.

One second, Mr. Ellsworth was on a rant about King Tutankhamen; then in the next, seven army men clad in black broke through the window that Alex was gazing through minutes before. The window shattered, shards of glass digging into Alex's shoulders and back. Alex sat there, dazed, blood trickling down his shirt. One of the men pulled Tom Harris out of his seat and cocked a gun to his head. All the men had guns equipped with silencers. They stationed themselves in every corner of the room. All this was done in about thirty seconds.

_Brilliant military tactics_, was all Alex's stunned brain could think of. It took a minute for him to realize that these men had Tom held captive.

"Don't anyone move!" The leader commanded in English, with a hint of an Arabian accent. "If I see you so much as breathe, the boy will be dead. And if the boy dies, you all die. No heroics. I don't want to see anyone killed." He spoke so matter-of-factly, so definitely and coldly, nobody even thought of moving. In fact, Mr. Ellsworth was already reaching for a phone, but the leader shook his disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Baldy. That applies to you, too." The leader gave a quick nod, and one of the other men shot the phone clear out of Mr. Ellsworth hand. Half the class gasped.

Alex quickly made a plan, well, more like a half-plan. It was a crazy idea, but, Alex couldn't just sit there and see his best friend get killed. So, he put his plan into action. Alex was aware that one of the men was standing directly behind him. Using a quick karate back kick, Alex thrust his foot into the man's groin. Alex twisted and sliced the man in the upper arm with his hand, making the man drop the gun.

Then, Alex did something he had never done before. He grabbed the gun, turned, and fired at the leader. With a gasp of surprise, Alex pulled the trigger again and again, and no bullets fired. He was shocked. Alex looked up at the leader, and the man fired twice. The two bullets hit Alex before he could dodge them, and before he hit the floor, Alex Rider world faded into black.

The ambulance arrived exactly seventy-three seconds after the emergency call was made; before the police did. But, it didn't matter. The seven armed men were long gone. They had made their exit through the broken window and disappeared in the London streets. No one knew their intention. No one knew why these men randomly entered a school and held a student captive.

Trouble was destined for Alex Rider, and, yet again, it came. But, it seemed as if his "luck of the devil" supply had run out. The two EMT's rushed to the second-story classroom where they found a young, fourteen-year-old boy laying in a pool of blood. A small band of teachers surrounded the boy, but they dared not touch him. The other students and faculty were being corralled into the auditorium. The EMT's waved the teachers out of the room, and they left, hesitantly.

Mrs. Bedfordshire stood at the doorway, softly crying. They all knew Alex Rider was dying. She'd always held a little of a soft spot for him. After his parents died, then his uncle, it was too much for the poor boy. His health failed him, and even though she wondered if all of his sick leave excuses were true, she knew he lived a troubled life. And, now, death. She backed out of the room, her walked was slowed, to a funeral's march.

Once the teacher's cleared, the EMT's started their work. The two EMT's looked a lot alike: the same dark features, height, and nearly the same weight. If they were to talk, which they wouldn't, one would hear that they both would have the same Spanish accent. They tried to make the boy comfortable, placed him on the stretcher and carried him to the awaiting ambulance. As they passed faculty in the halls, they tried to look concerned at the boy's condition. The boy looked like he was at death's door: with his grayish skin and paled face, his breathing coming in short, quiet gasps.


	3. Chapter 3: Not Again

**DISCLAIMER:** Since I must, even though I really don't want to, repeat this: Alex Rider and all things in this chapter related to the character and the series, does not, repeat: NOT, belong to me, but Anthony Horowitz. (Which I suspect you already know, if you are reading this).

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Three: Not Again**

The ambulance didn't have its lights on, and it wasn't going extremely fast. One EMT's was in the cab, obviously driving. The other watched the unconscious boy in the back. Surprisingly, there were no questions asked as the two pulled the boy away in the ambulance. No teacher stopped; none of the administrative stared.

As the ambulance exited off the busy highway, it pulled into a long

Alex Rider woke suddenly, as if something startled him out of sleep. His head ached, his chest throbbed, and his shoulders and most of his back stung. He slowly opened his eyes, and what met him startled him. He was lying on a soft bed, in a stark white room, with no pictures, wall hangings, or furniture, except for the bed, a single chair, and a few pieces of equipment. The floor was tiled. Alex looked down at himself and saw an IV protruding from his wrist. His chest, shoulders, and upper back were bandage. He felt mummified.

Alex was confused. A moment later, it all came back to him. The classroom. The men. Tom. The gun.

_Am I in heaven?_ He stupidly asked himself. _No, you don't have pain in heaven. _

Two minutes later, his suspicions were confirmed. A man stepped in the room, accompanied by another man clad in white scrubs.

The first man was average: not incredibly short, but not that tall. He had thinning colorless hair, pale skin, and superhumanly long fingers. He wore a dull gray suit that didn't entirely fit him properly. He wasn't fat; wasn't skinny. There was nothing interesting about this man except his eyes. His eyes didn't seem to fit his body. Where the rest of him was dreary and boring, his eyes were stimulating. They were of an icy blue hue; with a green tint. Looking into the man's eyes would catch one's breath.

"Ah, I see our little patient is awake," The man with the startling eyes announced calmly. The doctor looked anxious. "Doctor Martin?"

The single word wasn't exactly a command, but Dr. Martin jumped and nearly ran to Alex's beside. The doctor examined a couple of monitors and some print-outs and spoke in a squeaky, nervous voice:

"His stats are fine. Blood pressure's a little low, but he'll be up and moving in a few days." The man seemed pleased.

"Excellent." The strange man walked over to the hospital bed.

"Hello, Alex," his face twisted into a grotesque smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's Jack? Where am I?"

"Ms. Starbright is in Washington, on holiday at her parents'. Though I must say, she is frightfully worried about you."

Alex sat up abruptly in bed, which was a mistake. A fierce twinge of pain in his chest made him lay back down on the sheets. He wasn't dim-witted. "Where's Jack?" Alex repeated, experiencing an uneasy feeling in his gut that wasn't from the pain-killers. "Where am I? Who are you? How do you know my name?"

The man reached out and put a reassuring hand on Alex's shoulder. "Alex, please, you need to rest. Dr. Martin will throw me out of the room if I excite you too much." He glanced at Dr. Martin, his eyes laughing. Dr. Martin looked as if he were repulsed by the idea.

"Anyway," the man continued. "My name is Remus Lottswich. I am the director here at Opal Rehabilitation Center. You may call me Mr. Lottswich. Now, I do believe you know why you are here. You underwent a little tragedy at your school yesterday. A group of regular London gangsters entered your school, more than for a scare than anything else.

"On some manner of twisted events, one of the gangsters took a shot at you. But, I'll think I'll turn the tables now to Dr. Martin. He'll explain it to you."

Dr. Martin cleared his throat, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. "Now, the two bullets entered here –" He pointed to two spots below Alex's chest. "Those broke a couple of your ribs, but they'll mend soon enough…"

The doctor continued, and Alex nodded dumbly. He was confused; his mind cloudy. He dimly was aware wondering why the bullets hadn't done more damage, but he was too tired and too confused to care. Before he knew it, Alex's eyes slowly shut, and sleep overtook him.

A/N: I know, a little short, but I just wanted to get this posted quickly! Thanks to all of you who reviewed, thank you for your comments and constructive criticism. I have a pretty good idea of how I want this story to go, so don't worry! 


	4. Chapter 4: Inhospitable Revelations

**DISCLAIMER: **If you seriously think that I own Alex Rider, and am, indeed, Anthony Horowitz, and taking precious Alex Rider-writing-time to write a fanfiction, you must be out of your mind!

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Four: Inhospitable Revelations**

Alex woke. This time, it was night. Complete and udder silence blanketed him. A small pill and a glass of water lay at his bedside. He gulped down the water thirstily. He was confused, so confused. He wanted Jack. Wanted London. Wanted home. The last couple of days were a blur for Alex. The men, the shootings, the rehabilitation center: all was jumbled up and merged together; everything was in one continuous blur.

A firm knock on his door interrupted Alex from his thoughts. To his surprise, Mr. Lottswich entered the room and sat in the same chair he'd sat in the previous day.

_Or was it this afternoon?_ Alex wondered. He couldn't remember.

"Hello, Alex," Mr. Lottswich spoke softly. "I'm glad to see you're awake again. Now that you're rested up a bit, I believe you may have some questions for me."

Alex nodded. He couldn't quite seem to get his thoughts together. "Why am I here?" He said it quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the silence of the hospital.

"Ah, as I believe I have previously mentioned, you were injured at school. Surely, you remember?"

Alex nodded again. But, thinking back, that is all he remembered; two shots than darkness. He barely had recollection of the shooter at all.

"Opal Rehabilitation Center," Mr. Lottswich continued, "Is not a typical hospital. Much like St. Dominic's – as I recall you attending before – only certain people are admitted, but ORC has a unique healing treatment. Visitors are not allowed in the facility: so patients can recover as quickly and comfortably as possible. It's like a two-week holiday, per se. And, few – outside of the hospital staff, of course – are aware of its existence, so patients get the individual attention they need."

"Then how did I get here?"

"Well, Alex, Mr. Alan Blunt, himself, requested your admittance here at ORC. I wonder," Mr. Lottswich glanced at Alex quizzically, "Why such a superior of Britain's own military intelligence would be so interested in the welfare of a fourteen-year-old boy." He raised his eyebrows significantly, letting out a resounding "Hmm?"

Alex didn't respond, for, in fact, he didn't quite know what to say.

"Of course," Mr. Lottswich continued. "It isn't any of my business. If one of Britain's top M16 leaders seeks the comfort and wellbeing of anyone – much less a boy – so be it! I just hope you have a splendid time during the next two weeks of your stay here." His voice was falsely cheery, resembling much of a hotel's front desk attendant.

Mr. Lottswich stood up and gave Alex a quick pat on the shoulder. "Now if you need anything, just give a ring." His features darkened, his smile twisting into a warning scowl. "And _don't _leave the room without permission or without being accompanied by the staff." Mr. Lottswich's smile returned. "Oh, you better take this," he reached over and picked up the small white pill. "It'll relieve the pain and help you get to sleep faster." And, as quickly as he appeared, he left.

The pill worked. It hadn't been two minutes after Mr. Lottswich left when Alex's head hit the pillow. However, when he woke, Alex felt as groggy as he the day before. His head was still cloudy, and Alex couldn't make sense out of a lot. It took a few minutes before his surroundings took effect on him and he remembered the events of the past couple days.

_When will be able to get out of here?_ Alex wondered, before recalling that Mr. Lottswich had said two weeks. _Two entire weeks of missed school! I'll be working through Easter holiday to catch up! So much for a holiday!_

Alex was in a bad mood. He was confined to this room for two weeks. Besides, Alex had always hated hospitals; they were always bringers of negative news, shock, and despair. Alex, being a London lad, couldn't get used to the crisp, clean air of the hospital.

Alex was desperate for the time. Upon glancing out his high window, he noticed the sky was still dark. It took a moment for him to focus on the clock on his bedside table. The time was 6:02.

_The sun will be rising soon,_ Alex thought absentmindedly. In truth, Alex cared not two hoots about the sunrise, but, he was bored, and besides, sunrises _were_ pretty. _These pain relievers aren't much of a help! _He winced as a streak of pain seared through his body. _And they aren't giving me much sleep, either!_ Alex sighed and settled somewhat comfortably in his pillows.

Time passed, but Alex wasn't sure how much. It could have been days. Weeks, for all he knew! Alex felt dazed; his movements were bleary and unsteady. He had tried telling Dr. Martin of this at his last "check-up," but the doctor paid him no mind.

"Dr. Martin," Alex had called when the doctor was filling out papers.

"Mmmm?" The doctor hadn't even looked up.

"I've been feeling really groggy lately. Surely I need to move around, get my blood pumping." Alex was so _sure_ that he would feel better if only he was allowed the chance to walk around; he had been lying on his back for seemingly forever.

Dr. Martin shook his head, reassuring him that he needed rest. But, Alex wasn't convinced. However, he'd suspected that the doctor was right. Dr. Martin would know; he was a _doctor._

Dr. Martin seemed irritated, so Alex didn't ask him prod him any longer with his questions. The doctor meant well, and Alex knew that he wasn't agitated with Alex, per se, but with patients who questioned his judgment.

The next time Alex woke, he knew only one feeling: boredom. He'd been in dull situations before – namely, in the classroom – but he'd never before had he felt such a suppressing urge to _do_ something. Alex could finally appreciate the meaning of the phrase: bored out of his mind.

So, Alex decided that it was in his best interest to defy the doctor's wishes. Today, he was going to get up and do something. And, the best thing to do in a hospital was to explore. Curiosity was a natural feeling to Alex, and being stuck in a building that was unknown to him certainly sparked some interest in him.

He'd waited out the day. Alex was so excited – and nervous – about his plans of exploration that he picked at his lunchtime meal. Alex was adventurous, even for a boy his age, and not too many adventures had come upon him in a seemingly long time.

So, when nighttime came, Alex slipped out of bed and stood on the cool, tiled floors. For a few stomach-lurching seconds, Alex teetered on his feet. He abruptly sat on the edge of his bed, took a few deep breaths and steadied his beating heart. Every breath shot intense waves of pain from his chest down his arms, but he refused to sink into the pain, in sake of losing the "thrilling" adventure that lay before him.

After a few more tries (and after slipping on a robe), Alex walked steadily to the hospital door. He reached for the door handle, turned, and felt an agonizing tug that nearly escaped a cry of shock from Alex's lips. He looked down on his right arm, confused, and what met his eyes sent his excitement plummeting to the floor.

An IV protruded from a prick in his wrist. The IV was a flexible plastic tube, and an external portion of the catheter was taped to stay in place. Basically, Alex was connected to a portable – but not so discreet – wheeled cart. Alex's plan of exploring the hospital was no longer a possibility. Unless…

Alex wasn't quite sure about the proper removal of an IV, but he had to give it a try. Using the idea that seemed most sensible to him, Alex carefully ripped away the adhesive bandages, and simply – yet, gingerly – pulled the tube out of his wrist. It stung, but not unbearably so, and Alex placed the contraption on his bed.

Alex slipped into the hallway. He crouched low, but he needn't worry. Not a single person stood in the hall. However, Alex still stalked cautiously through the hallway, a tight ache in his lower chest that slowed his movements. Heavy footsteps – no doubt, a guard of some sort – temporarily froze Alex where he stood. After being released from his stupor, Alex slipped into a room right off from the hall. He closed the door, turned around, and his mouth gaped open.

There stood in front of him were rows upon rows of file cabinets, a large computer, plasma television set, and a large mahogany desk. Everything was prim, neat. The insane cleanliness didn't disturb him, but what did was a small, crude nameplate that neatly read: REMUS LOTTSWICH. For the second time in under two minutes Alex's jaw dropped.

He was standing in Mr. Lottswich's personal office.

_Well,_ the spy in Alex reasoned. _It would be such a shame to just leave. I'll just poke around a bit._

Alex was immediately drawn to a cluster of file cabinets that were labeled: PATIENT INFORMATION. The phrase, "Curiosity killed the cat," never really affected Alex. So, he went over to the cabinet that was tagged: R-T, and hesitantly open it. He thumbed through the various folders until he found the one he was looking for: RIDER, ALEXANDER. Alex pulled out the surprisingly thick folder between its neighbors: REAGAN, SAMUEL and RIGGIN, MATTHEW.

Alex quickly skimmed through the folder. Everything about Alex was there: from his birth certificate to a aerial snapshot of his home in Chelsea, and – Alex gasped – a immensely detailed record of all his missions for M16, including casualties and plans of action. Mr. Lottswich knew as much – and possibly more – about Alex as Alex did. It gave Ales the chills, and a flower of questions bloomed in his mind. Alex clearly recalled Mr. Lottswich wondering why Alex had been placed in such a top-secret, high-security hospital by Alan Blunt. Why did he ask if he already knew his relations with Blunt?

Alex a nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't from the lack of lunch.

Alex reached for the door handle, anxious to leave, but a loud, clear voice stopped him.

"Thank you, Ms. Steele," Mr. Lottswich spoke from the hallway. "Make sure my patient know of my coming. I will arrive in a few minutes."

Alex knew he had only seconds. There was no way out, but, there was a way _up_. Alex ran to the great desk. As he was about to clamber on top of the sturdy wood, another manila folder caught his eye. RUTILUS LEO was the bold heading. Without hesitating and without losing stride, Alex slipped the folder under his robe, climbed up the vent, and replaced the vent covering literally milliseconds before Mr. Lottswich entered his office. If Remus Lottswich noticed the missing file, his face didn't show it.

Lottswich sauntered to the first cabinet and pulled out yet another folder. Alex squinted at the label – it said ALVAREZ, MARIO – while Lottswich thumbed through the files and muttered, "112." As quickly as he entered, Remus Lottswich left.

Alex clambered through the duct vents, following Lottswich by sound and sheer notion.

Finally, Mr. Lottswich entered a room – presumably room 112. Alex settled himself into a somewhat-comfortable position, peering through an open vent, the two folders digging into his thigh.

"Mr. Alvarez!" Lottswich announced cheerfully. "I'm afraid I have some quite dreadful news to tell you." Although, Lottswich didn't seem as if it was dreadful at all.

"What?" Alvarez asked fearfully, with a thick American accent. "What is it?"

"I'm afraid you're going to die," Lottswich spoke matter-of-factly.

Alvarez smiled, as if he'd thought Mr. Lottswich was joking. "The bullet wound isn't fatal, Mr. Lottswich. Dr. Martin already assured me of it."

"Of course, the bullets aren't fatal. In fact, they really aren't bullets at all, merely tranquilizers."

Alex tore off the bandages around his chest. Alas, his wounds were not of bullets, but of some nasty looking bruises. He wondered how he could've been so stupid. He surely knew what a bullet wound looked like.

Alvarez spoke Alex's thoughts. "How can that be? I know what a bullet wound looks like." He seemed confused.

"Then my little medication is working," Lottswich seemed amused. "Have you wondered why you seem so clear-headed today, but so confused and groggy the fast few?" Lottswich didn't wait for an answer. "Well, your IV helped me, oh, let's say, confuse you a bit."

Alvarez was speechless, as was Alex.

"And now that I'm going to kill you, I'll justify myself. You see, I am the leader of a, hmm, I guess you could call it an international criminal organization called, 'Rutilus Leo.'" Alex nearly cried out in shock. "We are basically unknown, even to your CIA leaders, but some suspicion has been aroused about us. Small acts – minor, seemingly natural disasters – have decreased some of the world's peace. But, my organization and I are a bit tired of being anonymous. Once I kill you, Rutilus Leo will be a household name in America, and I'm sure the death of Alex Rider will be cover news on the national newspapers." He smiled smugly. "Yes, indeed.

"Let me tell you the history of Rutilus Leo. At differing periods of my life, I belonged to all the major corporations of the world. Scorpia, Chinese Triads, Mafia, you name it; I was somehow involved in it. About, oh, say, ten years ago, I was getting tired of being an unrecognized, underpaid, unappreciated employee in the criminal business. I had potential. I could be famous, which, I must say, has always been a little 'goal' of mine. So, I high-tailed out, and laid the foundation of Rutilus Leo.

"I searched the world, literally, for respectable agents. I was choosy, I picked only the best. One way or another, I bribed each person to be a part of Rutilus Leo. Each were physically fit, intellectual, first-class assassins, and fluent in Latin. Yes, Mr. Alvarez, it was very _essential_ for each to know Latin as if it were his native tongue. Latin is the mother of all languages, and that's the language on which Rutilus Leo runs. As of now, there are, including myself, there are one-hundred, ninety-six members of Rutilus Leo. There is one prime member from each and every, geographically speaking, country, excluding Antarctica.

"By killing the finest military-intelligence workers, namely, yourself, Mr. Alvarez, Rutilus Leo will be the greatest power the world has ever seen. Even the greatest countries, Russia, China, Britain, and, even America, will fall to its knees. Rutilus Leo will rule the world.

"That is why I am going to kill you, Mr. Alvarez. For the plans I – and the members of Rutilus Leo – have been working on day and night for the past decade to succeed, I shan't have any _nuisances_ in my way. That is my story, in a nutshell, of course. So, before you die, Mr. Alvarez, any last _reasonable_ requests?" Lottswich coolly glared at the petrified Mario Alvarez, an evil smile dancing on his lips.

"Please…please…Mr. Lottswich! Don't kill me! Mr. Lottswich…" Beads of sweat ran down the sides of Alvarez's face, his words slurred.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Alvarez, but I said reasonable request. And, I'm afraid, releasing you is not that reasonable."

All Alex wanted to do was jump from his hiding place and save the gallant CIA operative. But, that would have been in vain. Alex and Alvarez would've both been killed, and as long as Mr. Lottswich was unaware Alex's presence, the better chance Alex could report to M16 –

A shot rang out. The lifeless form of Mario Alvarez slumped over. In two strides, Remus Lottswich met the body, reassured himself there was no pulse, and made a quick call on a cell phone.

"Clean up Room 112," his voice was cold, deadly.

Alex stayed where he was, frozen in fear. Only one thought flashed in his head. He had to escape from the lethal man and the hospital that now held him in captivity.

Alex would never be the "same" again. He would never be a normal schoolboy, as he had hoped.

Alex Rider was a spy.

A/N: Phew! Finally got that completed!

I must say, Kudos to ThJaFl, who was the only person (who reviewed) to correctly hypothesize (big word, eh?) that the BULLETS were, in fact, TRANQUILIZERS. Congratulations!

Special thanks also to rmiller92, who made me aware of a HUGE mistake in Chapter Three. (If you didn't notice, I pretty much didn't completely finish a paragraph. It's fixed now, though).

Thank you to all who read my stories and review! My heart goes out to all of you!

So, why did you guys think? A little more exciting? Predictable? Unexpected?


	5. Chapter 5: Prison Bound

A/N: Hey, guys! This chapter took a little longer than usual, sorry! I'm just trying to get all my thoughts together, so I can figure out how this story is going to turn out. Oh, by the way (in case you really care), I'm going to use "X's" instead of lines to separate events. For some reason, the lines won't show up when I post the chapters. But, whatever! Hope you enjoy! Eck, I despise this ch

**DISCLAIMER: **If I were Anthony Horowitz, I'd be jealous. Not only does he _own_ Alex Rider, but he can go back and change major plot points in his story. However, I can't, without creating a fuss. :P

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Five: Prison-Bound**

Alex high-tailed it out of those ducts as fast as his broken ribs would allow him. He scrambled into his room, thankfully unnoticed, and pulled out two folders, one heavy, the other, surprisingly light. His IV lay on the end of his bed, seemingly forgotten.

Alex ignored the manila folder that boldly proclaimed his name, and reached for the latter.

_Rutilus Leo_, Alex searched his brain for the Latin translation until it came to him. _Golden Lion_. It made sense to Alex. Lions were the some of the most powerful animals, and, according to Lottswich, he was going to head the most powerful criminal organization.

And, Alex was right in the middle of it.

His defensive instinct told him to escape as quickly as possibly and run to safety. However, actually thinking things through had saved Alex many a time in the past, and he wasn't going to start changing his philosophy now.

So, Alex opened the folder dramatically slow, whilst slipping off the paper clips that held it shut. He'd thought, amused, that simple pieces of thin, bent wire held back evils that had the potential of destroying the world at large. Alex was prepared for anything, even a bomb, to be inside that case. Frankly, Alex reasoned that there really only would be endless paperwork, log reports, receipts, etc, nothing too exciting.

However, Alex hadn't expected a thin, metal disk. Alex picked it up, bemusedly, studying the disk carefully. With a grunt of shock, Alex realized he had much more than some pointless paperwork. He had a flash drive.

All sorts of possibilities flooded Alex's mind. Unfortunately, Alex had no access to any computer. He couldn't know if it was a piece of cheap metal, or, in fact, an all-access past to the makings of Rutilus Leo.

Heavy footsteps in the hall outside of his door startled Alex out of his ponderings. Without hesitation, Alex thrust the two folders – and the mysterious flash drive – under his pillow. He stumbled over the IV for a moment – Alex had never actually really handled one before – but had a general idea of how it worked. As the door to his room opened, Alex stuck the needle painfully in his wrist, secured the adhesive tape, and lay back on his bed; all in one fluid motion.

"Mr. Rider, glad to see you're awake again. Are you feeling any better?" Lottswich didn't sound genuinely concerned for Alex's health at all, but rather, voiced a hint of suspicion.

"Uh…a bit, I suppose," Alex tried his best to sound like an injured, drugged-up, slurred-word teenager. It wasn't entirely _too_ hard. The IV, which still stung his wrist, was starting to have its effects on him already.

"So, Alex, what have you been doing to keeping yourself busy? You can't be possibly just laying on this bed day in and day out, can you?"

The question took Alex off-guard. He hadn't taken Lottswich to be a blunt man.

Alex thought carefully before answering. It was obviously a trap. Even now, Lottswich was peering intently at Alex's wrist.

_He obviously is a careful man,_ Alex reflected. He inconspicuously hid his hand underneath of the blankets.

"I…I don't really know," Alex scrunched up his face in mock-thoughtfulness.

Lottswich frowned. He was still glaring at Alex's now-concealed wrist. Leaning over, Lottswich unraveled it from the thin covers and softly chuckled.

"Looks as if your IV has come loose, Mr. Rider," Lottswich said, smirking. Without breaking his gaze with Alex, Lottswich pushed the IV back in – quite painfully – and held it with the tape. "You don't want that to happen!"

With that, Lottswich stared at Alex for an uncomfortable moment and left the room. Alex exhaled and leaned against the pillows. It seemed as if leaving this place would be harder than he'd thought.

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The next day, Alex practiced the proper way of removing (and putting in) and IV, to make his "late night walks" (as he now humorlessly called them) easier.

For the next three nights, after Lottswich had retired to his rooms, and all but a few attentive guards were sleeping, Alex meandered through the complex duct-work of the hospital. He no longer had to leave his room to begin his adventures. A certain tile above Alex's bed was loose, making it easy for Alex to clamber up in the vents. Alex had no idea it would be this easy.

Three days' worth of exploration gave Alex a pretty good idea of the outline of the "hospital." He went everywhere the vents would take him, except for the patient's rooms. Alex didn't want to see anymore of Lottswich's dirty work.

Lottswich visited him at least once a day. Lottswich was very punctual, very rhythmic. His schedule was the same every day; Lottswich did everything at certain times. Approximately five minutes after six o'clock (according to the cheap plastic clock that hung above the door) Lottswich would stroll in his room, interrogate Alex for roughly five minutes, then leave.

Alex crawled through the duct vents, holding back a yelp as his knee banged quite painfully against the metal. Bruises stained his legs from accidentally bashing against the vents. Alex smiled inwardly, knowing this was his last time he'd have to crawl through these unusually small-ish metal passageways. Tomorrow, he'd be jetting back to Chelsea, reuniting with Jack and going back to Brooklands. However, a nice two-week vacation in the Bahamas was starting to make quite an appeal to him.

Because, you see, Alex had a plan.

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Alex was perched on his bed, sitting Indian-style, concentrated on a few tattered pieces of paper in front of him. Two manila folders lay beside him, their contents scrambled. He bent over a quickly made some corrections on his smuggled computer paper with a stub of a pencil. Five minutes later, his handiwork was done.

He picked up the papers, admiring his work. He held somewhat-detailed blueprints of the entire layout of the hospital. It had taken Alex nearly three hours to get them right and to his liking.

_Start Phase Two,_ Alex thought humorlessly as he gathered all the papers that were strewed across his bed, putting them in three different piles. One stack was made up of the few slips of paper that were his newly-completed blueprints, the second, the Rutilus Leo information, and, the third was the files that were about him. The first chance he'd get, Alex decided, he would burn those bloody papers.

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It was now promptly eleven o'clock. Alex had stayed up, anxious about the next twelve hours. If all went to plan, by tomorrow this nightmarish experience would be over.

After taking a deep, steady breath, Alex turned his plan inside-out inside his brain, triple-checking that there were no flaws or holes. He closed his eyes briefly. This mission was a little more nerve-racking than most. Sure, being in the clutches of mad men, chased with machine gun-laden men, and taking a trip to space had been quite worrisome and a bit thrilling, but during those times Alex had M16. If anything messed up, Alex could somehow quickly get in contact with his "guardians." But, this time, he was all alone. And, that unsettled Alex a bit. He'd seen Lottswich shoot a man, without hesitation, just because he'd worked for the CIA. Alex was a little frightened to imagine what Lottswich would do to him if he were caught.

But, without further ado, Alex stripped off his hospital gown and pulled on some black guard-drabs that gaped a bit, especially in the stomach. It was the only thing Alex could find without arising too much suspicion.

Alex then folded the many folders and papers (including the mysterious flash drive) and tucked them into a custom-made upper-thigh pocket in the inside of his pants, where they were fully concealed.

Slipping into lightweight boots (that Alex had also "borrowed"), Alex climbed up into the hole made by the easily-removable tile in the ceiling. Once Alex was once again in the duct-work, he followed the blueprints he had conjured that very afternoon. The route was quick and easy enough.

_Almost too easy,_ Alex thought grimly.

Nonetheless, Alex followed his plan, and began concentrating on lagging through the metal vents as quickly and injury-free as possible. Nearly fifteen minutes later, (the vents were a complicated, twisting maze) Alex arrived at his destination. Removing the loose tile, Alex prepared to jump down, when an unwelcoming sight stopped him in his tracks.

A guard, completely looking ridiculous as he chopped on a pink-iced donut, stood nearly directly below Alex. If the guard had looked up, he'd be quite surprised to find a grimy, shaggy-haired, fourteen-year-old looking incredulously down at him.

Thankfully, the guard was too immersed in his donut to do that.

Alex admitted to himself that this guard was a roadblock to his only way out of this deranged hospital.

_And Jack always said to let nothing get in your way,_ Alex reasoned.

With hesitating, Alex jumped down, landing cat-like behind the guard. The guard's chomping drowned out the sound of Alex's quiet landing.

Alex lashed out, sending a harsh blow to the man's neck. The poor man didn't even see it coming. He dropped like a log, the half-eaten donut landing comically on his slowly rising chest.

Alex leaned down, picked up the donut, and gorged it down, in a cop-movie kind of way. Brushing the crumbs off his cheek, Alex leapt out the back door – probably the only unguarded door in the entire hospital.

The crisp night air got Alex's blood pumping. Adrenaline surging, Alex pummeled down the slope – into the dark canopy of trees. Alex was thrilled. He was finally _free_.

Confident, Alex gave himself a congratulatory pat on the back, smiling like a Cheshire cat. Momentum surged him forward. Trees flew by him; it was a miracle he didn't run into any of them. Already, Alex was picturing his reunion with Jack, taking a hot shower, sleeping in his own bed. He sighed joyfully.

Two miles later, Alex was still running hard. His calves burned as if on fire, his breath came in short, quick gasps.

_Must be all that SAS training,_ Alex thought sarcastically.

But, the mere _thought_ of escaping that hospital kept him going. Lottswich scared him, in a way only madmen can. The man was going to be sent to the asylum after he was caught, that's for sure.

Alex was going so fast now that everything was a blur of motion and color. Momentum was pulling him forward. He felt as if he was on a rollercoaster; his feet barely touched the ground. Sweat ran into his eyes, blinding him. That's why he didn't see it coming until it was upon him.

A twenty foot fence loomed above him, nearly stretching higher than the tallest trees. Alex saw it at the last second, and put his arm up, instinctively, to ward off the blow. He crashed right into it with a resounding clatter. Electric shock ran through his body in waves.

_Good Lord,_ Alex realized. _The fence's electrocuted!_

He fell back with a bang, and landed onto the hard ground. Suddenly, as soon as his back touched the ground, Alex was swept high into the tree, trapped in a heavy rope cage. He was suspended roughly ten feet above the ground.

Alex groaned audibly. His whole body ached from the electricity. Alex looked at his arm, for it had taken much of the hit. It was cut up pretty badly, but it was nothing worse than anything he had endured before. His hair was comically standing up on its end. Luckily, the folders and the flash drive were undamaged. Alex closed his eyes, the ropes cutting into his skin.

He swayed in the treetops, utterly defeated. Alex couldn't muster the strength to swing the rope cage, as if doing so showed promise of possible escape, which it didn't. Alex was physically exhausted. The electric shock, which surprisingly didn't kill him, drained him of all strength. Alex knew he wouldn't be able to run (or climb down a tree, for the matter) to save his life. The adrenaline that hat pumped in his veins during his two-mile sprint had left him. Already, black spots were slowly closing in on the edges of his vision. It was over.

Five minutes later, two quad bikes and one extremely small car swerved to a stop underneath Alex's tree, coming from a concealed path. Alex watched them file out with vague interest. He watched them cut the rope, and felt himself being lowered. He rolled out of his Robinson Crusoe-type cage onto the firm ground. Two men pulled Alex up quickly to his feet, and he faced two machine-clad men and a surly-looking Lottswich.

"Ah, Mr. Rider," Lottswich looked at him with a scornful eye. "You know, even though I shouldn't be, I am quite surprised to find you here. Not that I did not anticipate your escape – which, I did – but I did not expect you to make it this far. I must say, Alex, I'm quite impressed.

"I just wanted to go home," Alex whimpered, trying to keep his cover for as long as possible.

"Let us stop pretending, Alex. For it, I must say, is quite childish. You know about me and I know about you.

"How did you know I would be here?"

"The voltage of this fence was not enough to kill you, quite obviously. But the trap, which was unavoidable, was a little _fun_ for me. I thought it was, er, quite 'cute.'" Lottswich stood stock-still, unwavering. "As soon as the trap went off, it sent an immediate alert to the 'hospital,' providing me with the exact location of where the trap went off." A small breeze blew, sending goose-bumps up Alex's arms. Lottswich seemed to have noticed.

"But let us end our little chat here, for it is quite chilly. We don't want anyone having to go to the hospital now," Lottswich gave Alex an amused look.

"Put the boy in the car," Lottswich ordered. "Oh, and Alex," he turned again to face Alex, "please, for your own safety, don't try anything on the ride back. There's three more in the backseat."

"Pity the back seat (1)," Alex mumbled angrily.

Lottswich chuckled as Alex was loaded into the back of the small car, squished between two tensed guards, bound. Lottswich whistled an unknown tune as they made their way back to the prison (formally known as the hospital).

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A/N: Er, I know, sort-of short chapter after a long wait. I'm sorry if it's a bit confusing; I sort of rushed at the end. If it was _too_ rushed, I'm sorry, my apologies! I was feeling quite guilty for not updating in a while! So, please review! Your comments keep me rolling!

(1) Strictly from one of my favorite (humor-wise) quotes from _The Outsiders._ Got

to love good ol' Two-Bit!


	6. Chapter 6: Probing and Periling

A/N: Wow, I can't believe this is the SIXTH chapter! Phew! Hope you enjoy! Oh, by the way, I'm becoming less creative in chapter names. Sorry. But, I hope this is enough to fill your belly:D

**DISCLAIMER:** I wanted the ownership of Alex Rider for Christmas. I didn't get it. It _still_ belongs to Anthony Horowitz, though I _do_ have a copy of _Scorpia_ somewhere…

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Six: Probing and Periling **

The drive back to the hospital was surprisingly _quiet_. Lottswich didn't say a word, but hummed somewhat smugly to himself in the passenger seat of the car. They took a wide path that seemed completely obvious to Alex now, but he knew it would seem hidden in the forest.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. Having been squeezed between two husky men with guns digging into his ribs, Alex was anything but comfy. But, by the looks on the men's faces, Alex supposed he wasn't supposed to be.

They pulled into a hidden garage underneath the hospital just as Alex had counted to nine-hundred. Wordlessly, the two men bound, gagged, and pulled Alex along by the arms into a concrete, cold, damp room. In the room, there was a cage, about six meters long and five meters wide, in the center of the room. The cage had thick steel bars and a singular door was secured with a heavy lock. A cot – which took up most of the space – was set on one side, and a small latrine was tucked in the corner. Alex had a gut-wrenching feeling that he'd be staying here for a while.

The first guard quickly unlocked the door, and the second tossed Alex inside. He fell, hard, against the cement, dazed. They placed a bowl of water and a couple of bandages right inside the door and left quickly.

Alex crawled over to the water and gulped half of it thirstily. He took the bandages and quickly wrapped up his arm, which was starting to look a bit nasty. Once he finished, Alex collapsed onto the bed and fell in an easy, deep sleep. The bed was hard, uncomfortable, and it would've taken him a long time to fall asleep if he hadn't been so bone-tired.

As he turned over, something sharp bore into his thigh, surprising him. More awake, Alex sat up and reached into his pants. He pulled out the files and flash drive. These were the things that made his escape so _vital_, but Alex had completely forgotten all about them.

Not feeling so defeated now, Alex closed his eyes, a smile not fading from his lips as he succumbed to sleep.

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A loud clanging noise pulled Alex out of sleep. He scowled, turning over, set to tell the person to leave him alone and go back to sleep.

But, that person (or rather, people) had other things in mind.

"Get up!" A stern voice commanded. Strong hands pulled a half-asleep Alex from the bed and tossed him the floor. He lay there for a moment, dizzy from the sudden movement.

"Get UP!" The man repeated more earnestly, kicking Alex in the ribs. Alex lay there, gasping. As the man raised his foot back to deliver another blow, Alex rolled over and stood, wincing.

"Now, now," Lottswich stood in the corner of the cage, smirking. Alex hadn't seen him until now. "No need to hurt the boy, _yet._" He looked smug.

Lottswich was a man of control. He liked control. He liked being in control. He didn't like surprises; he wanted to everything, to be in charge of all happenings. Alex's attempt at escape didn't make him mad. It infuriated him.

Lottswich snapped once. A chair was immediately brought to him. He eased back into it, enjoying the moment.

"Alex," His voice was slow, measured. "This can be either really easy or really hard, for _you._ I'm not going to lie to you; I'm not going to butter up the truth. Tell me what I want to hear, and you'll die quickly, painlessly. But," His cat-like smile returned, doing everything but illuminating his features. "If you make it hard for me, you make it hard for yourself. You'll die slowly, after much, much pain. You'll find that I am a _master_ – an artist – of pain. But, a little bird tells me that won't be enough. I don't think you value your life as much as you should. But, I think the you'll find yourself into some circumstances that will make you more _willing_.

"Don't attempt to escape again. If you hadn't figured out yet, it's impossible to leave this fine establishment. Deny my hospitality again, and you'll get more than that scratch on your arm." Lottswich paused for a moment, as if contemplating something.

"You may wonder why I haven't killed you. Surely, you must know that was my previous plans. But, after thinking, I think you will be of much use to me. I will be ashamed if I lead a failing organization like Scorpia or anything of those others. So I think to myself, 'How can Rutilus Leo be successful? Why pay people to answer this question when I can get first-hand information without cost?'

"If you hadn't guessed, Alex, this is when you come in. You've worked side-by-side with some of the top people who have been the reason for the downfalls of some of the elite criminal organizations that world has ever known, and I daresay you are one of them. You even work for one the best military intelligence corporations in the world. Surely, you know what makes an influential criminal organization tick. Because, Alex, I will not settle for second best. Rutilus Leo will be a household name, an international terror. M16, CIA, all will fall under the golden lion. You will help me do this. And, when I'm done with you, you will be disposed of. How does that sound?" Of course, this was rhetorical; Lottswich had no care for Alex's opinion.

"Sounds like you're a rambling idiot." Alex was going to let Lottswich break him; he knew he was never going to succumb to Lottswich's plans.

Throughout Lottswich's spiel, Alex sat, unwavering. Alex knew that Lottswich's speech was only for Lottswich to boost confidence in himself. Lottswich talked big, aimed big, but would, inevitably, fall short. Alex would make sure of that.

Before Alex could blink, Lottswich had jumped up from his chair next to Alex, holding a sharpened switchblade up to his neck. The agility the man possessed surprised Alex.

"You're in no position to give me lip, Alex," Lottswich breathed into Alex's ear. He drew the knife slowly across Alex's neck, puncturing the skin and drawing blood. He glared at Alex momentarily, before wiping the blade and returning it to his pocket.

Regaining composure, Lottswich returned to his chair. After a pregnant, uncomfortable pause, Lottswich broke the silence by saying,

"Until we meet again, Alex." And then, he left, the two guards following promptly behind him.

In a twisted way, Lottswich reminded Alex much of Alan Blunt. Both men were cruel, yet in different ways, for different sides. Blunt's uncaring manner was for the good, while Lottswich was obviously the contrary. Both carried an air of intimidation, making them naturally excellent leaders. Both were planners, not just for what would happen but even the seemingly impossible. In that way, Alex was enraged by them both. They both had Alex's life planned out for him, without caring for Alex's consent. But, Alex was determined to make them _both_ wrong. Alex wasn't a predictable person, and he didn't want to be.

With that somewhat encouraging thought, Alex fell into a daze, planning what his next move – in this game called life – would be.

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The obnoxious clanging woke Alex – what else was there to do? – again. This time, Alex sat up quickly, in attempt to avoid another beating.

The same two guards took positions by the door, comically folding their hands in front of them simultaneously. Lottswich sat in the same metal folding chair. Alex felt as if he were in the middle of crime investigation show – but with real criminals, real guns, and the reality of real death.

"Now, Alex," Lottswich began, forever holding on to his cool and unwavering tone. "Let's begin our little chat. Now, I hope you recall our arrangement yesterday?"

_Had it really been yesterday?_ Alex wondered.

Aloud, he shrewdly answered, "You mean that my death is unavoidable? Yea, I somehow remember that." Alex's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Lottswich laughed hollowly. "Always the wit! But, I'm afraid humor won't get you out of this one. (1)

"Nay, let us get down to the real business…"

And so, for an eternity – or as it seemed to Alex – Lottswich questioned him about everything. He wanted the details of his past missions, of the personalities and tactics of Julia Rothman, Yassen, everybody and everything. He even inquired about Blunt and Mrs. Jones.

But, Alex sat there, stony-faced and silent.

And, obviously, Lottswich wasn't too happy about it. "Alex!" The sharpness of his voice startled Alex, and he jumped a little in his seat. "Where was the base of Scorpia? What was its exact location?"

Alex answered Lottswich's question for the first time. It wasn't that Lottswich's new profound mannerisms: the edge in his voice, the hate in his eyes, the way he looked ready to kill, were scaring him. Getting bombarded by Lottswich's questions equaled that of a M16 debrief: pointless, long, exhausting, and _boring_. Alex decided he would liven it up a bit.

"Classified," was Alex's terse reply.

Alex could almost see Lottswich's face turn to an angry red. "Excuse me?" He asked curtly.

"The information is classified. I can't tell you. I've signed The Official Secrets Act." Alex gave him mock-apologetic, innocent eyes.

"I don't bloody care about a ruddy paper! You _will_ give me the information I seek, Alex!" He looked like a psychopath on edge.

Alex shrugged offhandedly.

Suddenly, laughing like a mad man, Lottswich reached into the lapel pocket of his crisp suit jacket. He pulled out a fresh picture, turning it so the picture part would face Alex.

Alex gasped. A repulsing school picture of Tom Harris stared back at him.

"I don't like to kill innocent people, Alex," – Alex would have snorted if he hadn't be so shocked – "But, I will do whatever needs to be done in order to get what I want. I will repeat my question: where was the exact location of the base of Scorpia and how did its location affect the way Scorpia was run?"

Alex saw no reasoning behind the question. But, for the sake of Tom, he spewed off the information, altering the truth by at least three hundred miles east.

As if reading Alex's mind, Lottswich said defiantly, "If you are lying, your little friend will be dead before you can even _blink_."

Shortly after, Lottswich left. Three days this processed continued. The interrogations were hours upon hours, and Alex was exhausted. He hadn't been given any real food, only chlorinated water. He felt dizzy and disoriented, his head continuously throbbing, his thoughts were muddled and unclear. It was worse than when they gave him the drug through the IV.

Alex vaguely wondered if they were going to starve him to death.

On the third day, Lottswich came in the room, finding a sunken Alex collapsed strangely on the bed.

"Get up!" He commanded sharply. Alex didn't move, didn't even bat an eyelash.

"I said get up!" Lottswich kicked Alex multiple times in the stomach and ribs until Alex struggled to sit up, groaning.

"Oh, don't worry, Alex," Lottswich assured him smugly, "You'll be put out of your misery before too long."

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A/N: Okay, I think I know how the rest of this story is going to span out. My prediction is…well, you don't want to hear my prediction! It may be that I can put up chapters weekly, if time doesn't allow me to have more frequent updates! Thank you for sticking to me and this story!

(1): Ah, what a cliché! Sounds quite Lottswich-y, doesn't it:D


	7. Chapter 7: Escape, Take Two

**DISCLAIMER:** Everything pertaining to Alex Rider and the acclaimed series belongs to the highly-commended Anthony Horowitz. I do, however, take _entire_ credit of Remus Lottswich. He's all mine! So, _there_:sticks out tongue in a _very_ mature manner:

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Seven: Escape, Take Two**

Alex suddenly woke up, groaning. Sleep wasn't easy to come by on an empty stomach. At the most, he'd get an hour or two of sleep at a time. Alex was exhausted. He could barely push himself to stay awake during the interrogations. However, frequent blows to the head, stomach, and chest administered by Lottswich kept him semi-attentive.

Speaking of the devil, Lottswich was continuously surly. He didn't crack any smart-alecky jokes, and had abandoned his refined, expansive speech. Lottswich was more like Blunt now than ever, frank and to the point.

Lottswich's threats became more common and more violent. He'd warn of killing Blunt, Mrs. Jones, Jack, and even the whole of London. Alex, of course, gave him the information Lottswich wanted in partial truth. Alex shuddered at the thought of what Lottswich would do if he'd found out Alex had been lying.

But, there was one – actually, _three_ – things that kept Alex holding on, kept Alex fighting the fatigue that threatened to smother him. And, those three things were situated in Alex's secretive, inside pocket. Those things, of course, were the folders and mysterious flash drive. Alex nearly laughed at Lottswich and his men; they hadn't even properly _checked_ him since he was re-captured. Amateurs.

However, Alex wasn't fool enough to not know that he didn't have much time left. Either Lottswich wouldn't have any more apparent use for him and would kill him, or his body would simply shut down from the lack of nutrients. Alex had to work fast.

As ever, Alex came up with a plan; a _better_ plan than the first. Alex humorously referred to it as "Revised Plan A." He'd been turning it over in his mind for the last two days, making mental corrections and assuring himself that this _would_ work, hopefully. If Lottswich caught him again, Alex knew he wouldn't be so generous as before. Alex would be dead, without hesitation on Lottswich's part.

The next chapter in Alex's life started with the usual creaking sound of a small door opening in the door of his cage. A gnarled, calloused hand set a small cup of water on the damp floor inside of Alex's confinement. Alex had missed the hand last time it'd come. This time, Alex was determined.

Rolling off the bed and sliding silently over to the door in such a quickness that surprised even him, Alex grabbed the hand in a firm grip and pulled.

The guard had no chance. Being early morning, the guard was only half-awake, yet aware that he had to deliver the cupful of water to the imprisoned boy _again_. He ran his hand through his slicked-back ponytail. Silently he wondered why this boy was even locked up in the first place, much less only given small tidbits of water. But, it wasn't the guard's place to ask questions, as that had been strictly reviewed when the guard had applied for the job. The pay was good, yet the hours were long and vigorous.

While unlocking the small door to slip in the cup, the guard had clumsily dropped his keys. Alex silently prayed for thanks. He grasped the arm of the man and pulled three times, each time banging the man's head unmercifully against the steel bars. The giant of a man collapsed against the concrete floor, blood oozing from a deep gash on his forehead.

After gulping down the water, Alex stuck his entire arm through the small opening, groping around the unconscious man for a minute or so without avail. Then, his fingers grasped his lifeline.

Snaking his arm back through the hole, Alex stood up, keys twinkling in the half-light. The steel bars of the cage were very close together, but Alex, skinnier than he'd been a month ago, easily slipped his entire arm and some of his shoulder through the gap. It was quite painful, but finally Alex was able to stick the right key into the keyhole.

With a slow turn, Alex heard a resounding "click" and almost leaped with joy. He pushed the door – and the guard, for that matter – back until he was able to slither out of his cage, to freedom.

He leaned over, inspecting the unconscious guard, feeling only slightly sorry for him. Alex patted the insignia on the man's uniform – a snarling golden lion – and whispered sarcastically,

"Stay gold, Ponyboy." (1)

The sudden activity made Alex a little dizzy. After closing his eyes briefly, Alex felt better. He took off, following the maze of hallways and rooms he only somewhat remembered. Since it was still early, Alex didn't have any nasty encounters with guards, or worse, Lottswich. Still, Alex crept slowly, cautiously through the halls making little sound, trying to keep it that way.

Finally, Alex arrived at door of the garage. Luckily, no mechanics or guards were in there. The car that had taken Alex back to the hospital sat in the middle, glistening even in the half-light.

Turning around, slightly in awe of the immense room, Alex counted his lucky stars. He had originally planned to simply escape on foot (he suspected that he would have a better chance this time, since he knew the wraps (2)), but what he saw made him much, much happier.

A band of four-wheelers, much like the ones that had escorted him from the woods, were in a line, leaning against their kickstand. Directly above them, in synchronized cubby-holes, were matching midnight-black helmets and - Alex's heart leapt – keys.

Feeling quite devious, Alex trotted over to the gang of four-wheelers, selecting the sleekest one of the bunch. He slipped on the helmet and put the keys in the corresponding keyhole.

For a moment, Alex straddled the bike, feeling a bit awkward. He didn't have much experience on motorized bikes (3), but he had the gist of their workings. Alex wheeled the bike over to an opened side door, and – after a moment of unsure hesitation – started the bike.

It roared to life, a deafening sound. It startled Alex; breaking the previous silence that had only been disturbed by the beating of his own heart. Without a second though, Alex shot out the door and into the treacherous, sloping hills.

He didn't try to escape through the back woods again. Nay, with a quick flick of his wrist, Alex was steadily traveling around, and then, the front of the hospital, dirt kicking behind his spinning tires. He reckoned the hospital was a mile or more from a highway or a main road, enough space to be removed from society, but not completely obliterated from it. It was, after all, an alleged hospital.

Alex guarded that feeling of pure joy and adrenaline rush that threatened to burst from him, he'd been caught in the midst of escape once; he was going to make sure it didn't happen again.

He was traveling fast; negotiating the hills was harder than he'd thought. Alex wondered about the outcome of losing control and crashing. He shuddered at the thought.

It was roughly five minutes of literally flying down the rocky slopes until Alex was aware of pursuers. Four men – there might've been more, but that's all Alex could see – followed him, doubled on identical quads, one driving, the other handling a machine gun.

The hills were becoming small mountains, steeper and rockier. The space between Alex and his captors was rapidly decreasing. Alex felt himself slowing; he was draining the bike out of gas quicker than he had expected.

Once in range, the two men opened fire on the boy. It was difficult while in a high speed pursuit, but they were excellent marksmen. The two enemy bikes were now only a hundred meters behind Alex, and gaining. Alex had only one choice.

The next hill was quite steep, with a long face and deep valley. As he neared it, Alex let up on the accelerator a bit, until the men were nearly directly behind him. Suddenly, Alex floored the vehicle, and pulled up on the handlebars with all his might.

Lottswich's men looked up in astonishment. This kid was _good._ Instead of capsizing the quad – which Alex had nearly done – the bike was launched into the air, _over_ the men. For a few breathtaking moments, Alex was airborne, his lower body not in contact with the bike at all. Only his hands gripped the handlebars.

Being in the air is a peculiar thing. It seems as if you're flying for an eternity, though, you don't feel, don't say anything, don't _think. _You've been disconnected from the world for a few blissful moments, being one with the birds.

Alex landed, though, nearly losing control, bumpily, jarring every bone in his body. He was now ahead of Lottswich's men for a few hundred meters. But, Alex didn't think he could pull that one off again. He didn't think the _bike_ could take that again. His only hope now was to find the main road. And, there weren't any signs of that either.

Alex just forged ahead, not losing hope, knowing that this _wasn't_ it. He'd escaped gunmen, criminal organizations, and madmen before on foot. Alex was going through the same thing, though this time he had the advantage of speed and distance.

_Just keep this distance and you'll make it_, Alex reassured himself. _It won't get any worse than this_.

How wrong he had been. Because, in a few short moments, things went from bad to much, much worse.

The gunmen were still running their supply on bullets, and one finally made contact. The small missal hit the left rear tire, blowing it. Alex was airborne yet again, but this time he had no control. The bike spun uncontrollably, with Alex still on it, then fell, bursting into flames.

Alex was flung from the vehicle onto the hard, rock-embedded ground. His vision left him, leaving him in a world of black.

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A/N: Was that too rushed? Too unrealistic? Sorry if it was, but, in all truth, I wanted to finish quickly. I hope, no, _pray_, you enjoyed it! Now, I'm usually not one to do this – in fact, I despise it – but I'm asking (pleading) you guys to review. Now, I know some of you are _very_ faithful to me and always review, but I would love it if you others would review. Just tell me your thoughts, con-crit, etc. I take all! I love – as all writers do – reviews!

Now, for some footnotes:

Please forgive me and my oh-so-apparently-noticeable Outsiders references. Of course, I did choose the most over-used, famous lines of the book, but, hey, don't blame me! (And, if you didn't get it, the guard had a _ponytail!_ Ponytail…Ponybody…hahahahaha:D)

You know, the wraps. I'm not sure if I spelled it right (it could be "raps"), but I mean it like when someone says, "It's all under wraps." Get it?

Has Alex used a motorbike before? I can't remember, and I don't have my Alex Rider library on me currently.


	8. Chapter 8: Recovery

A/N: Chapter Eight! Woot! Woot!

**DISCLAIMER:** Basically nothing belongs to me. Well, except my iPod…my computer…:continues to list worthless items:

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Eight: Recovery**

Four men approached the bike, and the still body of Alex Rider. Their faces were grim, quiet. They walked carefully, avoiding small patches of fire. A great flame was consuming much of the bike and was unsettling close to Alex's form. One, the leader, shook his head ruefully.

"Lottswich is sure going to get us now," The guard spoke tersely. "He told us not to kill the boy."

"The boy ain't dead! The boy ain't dead!" A second one said nervously, his voice becoming higher and higher. "He's just unconscious! Just unconscious! I can't die! I can't! Ah, shoot, I only took this job for the cash! Lottswich's gonna get us–"

"Shut up!" The leader said harshly. "No person could survive that fall. Now here's the plan: we'll tell Lottswich that the boy is captured, in a more secure cage. He probably won't check on the boy until later tonight. We have some time to get Lottswich off our back, then get out of here. We'll just leave the boy here, he's no use now."

The two silent guards nodded their heads, while the other was shaking, muttering to himself. The flames were now licking the Alex's shoes.

Without another word, the four left, dragging something that would pass as a struggling boy, in case they were being watched.

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Another four men squatted on the forest floor, watching the guards leave. They thought it was peculiar, how they just _left_ the agent, but that only meant one thing.

The agent was dead.

Grimacing, the leader of the pack spoke firmly into his radio:

"K-Unit to Base: agent spotted. Permission to abandon post and collect agent."

The response came without hesitation.

"Base to K-Unit: permission granted."

With a tense nod from the leader, a short, muscular man with square shoulders and dark hair, the group broke apart from the woods; their camouflage suits doing just that, camouflaging them.

They speed-crawled over to the flames. The heat was intense, four sets of eyes watered, making trails down their dirty faces. They were apprehensive, they were expecting the worse.

Their orders were clear. An agent had been missing for over a week. After fine-combing the better half of Britain and the surrounding area, they had a pretty good idea where this agent was. They were planning an all-force, heavy attack, but the agent had made it easy for the SAS.

The agent escaped on a stolen motor bike, had beaten impossible odds, did some of the best maneuverings on a bike many had ever seen, but was gunned down. The agent's condition was feared to be terminal, and the unit closest was to collect the agent.

The four men avoided the flames, which were dying slowing, and were avidly searching for a body.

A quick intake of breath – which could've been identified as a gasp – came from the youngest member of the team. Silently, he pointed down to the unmoving form of Alex, and a thin, fair head man – obviously the medical officer – quickly walked over and bend down.

Tentatively, the man turned over the body – who looked incredibly small – and eight eyes stared.

The agent fit the description they had been given: blonde hair, brown eyes, small, athletic build. But the team had never fit the pieces together.

The fourth member – Eagle – swallowed. "Cub?"

"Mother Mary," Snake breathed. "Déjà vu."

Wolf rolled his eyes. "Not this again."

Snake said nothing, but hastened to start to work on Alex. As he scrambled for a pulse, Eagle whispered,

"What's wrong with him?"

Snake looked up quickly to glare up at Eagle. "I don't know, yet. We got to get him out of this fire. I'm not sure about neck or spinal injuries, so we must be careful. Wolf!"

Wolf walked over, and Snake carefully placed Alex in his awaiting arms. He was much lighter than he should've been. "We'll carry him to the safe house." Snake spoke with authority. "Then we can determine the extent of his injuries."

Snake pulled off Alex's shoes, which were nearly burnt off. His pulse was unsteady. Snake bit his lip worriedly.

The four slowly but surely crept back into the woods, unseen. Phoenix – the newest recruit and Fox's replacement – led, gun at the ready, in front of Wolf (who was carrying Alex) and Snake; Eagle bringing up the rear. The four men were silent, alert.

They walked for roughly ten minutes, as fast as they dared. Snake knew they had to get Alex settled, especially since blood was still flowing from multiple wounds. K-Unit walked down a path Alex hadn't seen before, through a single gate in the electric fence that was unknown and nearly invisible.

Finally, the five arrived at what looked like a fallen-down log. Phoenix expertly walked up to a knot in the wood, pressing his hand upon it. A keypad swiveled around, and Phoenix typed in a ten-digit code. A door opened, and Phoenix went inside. Next went Wolf and Alex, then Snake, then Eagle.

The shack was small, to say the least. There were four rooms, one above, and three below ground. The room on level was just a common room, a kitchen, medical supply room, and a bedroom occupied the remaining rooms.

Quickly, Snake led Wolf to the spare bedroom, which was in fact quite small. They laid Alex on the bed.

Alex looked far worse off than Snake had hoped. Blood flowed from a gash in his head. His right arm was bent in a crude angle. Numerous bruises and scratches stained the boy's body. Upon opening Alex's shirt, Snake winced at the bruised, swelled ribs. Multiple burns from the fire, especially by his feet, marked his skin. Alex looked incredibly thin, his skin was pale. Alex face showed no emotion, it was unsettling blank.

Snake quickly made a splint for Cub's arm, and rubbed salve on the burns. He taped up the ribs as best as he could. One of Snake's main concerns was Cub's head. He now had it wrapped up tightly, but blood still trickled out of the gash.

Snake sighed with relief as he felt along Alex's spine. There were no apparent injuries there. Without invitation, an awkward group of Wolf, Eagle, and Phoenix entered.

"What's wrong with him?" Eagle repeated.

"Broken arm, second degree burns, possibly broken ribs, possible concussion," Snake responded in a robotic, automaton manner. "I can't really tell if there's any spinal or neck injuries without an X-Ray, but I'm pretty sure there isn't any. This kid is lucky. He should've died."

There was a pause, as the words sunk in. Snake shook his head, bewildered. It was so much like the business at Point Blanc.

"I'll be on first watch," Snake volunteered. "Then Phoenix, then Eagle, then Wolf. Two hour watch. If he starts to wake up, grab the meds and me. He _needs_ to wake up."

The other three left without further word. Snake stared at the motionless body.

_Come on Cub,_ he silently urged. _Wake up._

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Wolf sat in a chair in the corner of the room, his alert eyes staring, fixed, at Cub.

_Cub, you better wake up._ _You have a duty to your country_. Wolf tried to be stern, scornful, but he wasn't pulling it off too well.

Aloud, Wolf said, "Cub, what have you gotten yourself into? Sure, at Brecon Beacons, I thought you were just some rich, bloody schoolboy. Then, at Point Blanc…" His voice trailed off for a moment. "I guess after Point Blanc we kind of all figured at what you were. But, come on!" Wolf punched the chair in frustration. "You're what? Thirteen? Fourteen? You're too bloody young to be working for M16! One of these days, you're going to get killed. You know that? You're too young to die! You're just so _stupid_, Cub! You –"

Wolf was cut off by a soft groan. In his anger, Wolf had not seen the way Alex's face was beginning to twist in agony, replacing the utterly vacant look he held prior. Alex was turning under the sheets, moaning.

Wolf shook himself out of his daze. "Snake! Eagle! Phoenix!" He shouted, without taking his eyes of Alex. The three immediately ran in, Snake laden down with all sorts of medications.

Snake shoved the meds towards Eagle and took his place by Alex's side. "Cub?" Snake's voice was soft and gentle, as if he were coaxing an actual injured cub. "Cub? Come on, buddy, wake up, will ya?"

Looking up at Eagle, Snake said, "Get those medications ready. When he wakes, he's going to be in some serious pain." Eagle nodded and started twisting off bottle caps.

After about five minutes of Snake's soft talk, Alex's eyes fluttered open. A visual breath of relief escaped from all four SAS men.

Alex looked at first scared, then surprised. Reflexively, he moved away from the men, but stopped suddenly, briefly shutting his eyes.

Recognizing K-Unit, he licked his lips and spoke:

"Lottswich." He spat out the word weakly, his voice scratchy. Eagle handed him some pain killers and water, but Alex only drank the water, discarding the medication.

"Remus Lottswich," he started again. Alex's voice became a bit stronger. "He's created a criminal organization called Rutilius Leo…" Alex told them the entire story, from the alleged school shooting, to his second escape attempt. The four men listened, transfixed on Alex's words.

Alex's eyes brightened, an idea dawning on him. "I got these," his hand shook as he reached into his secret pocket, pulling out the files and flash drive. "I-I don't know what's there, but it-it's something." Wolf took the items, mesmerized.

Snake pulled himself out of his stupor, and peered intently at Alex. "Cub," his voice was still gentle, soothing. "When was the last time you ate something?" That's Snake, always the doctor.

Alex opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly coughed. His good arm immediately snaked across his ribs. "A couple days a-ago, I guess." His voice faltered.

Without further ado, Snake force-fed Alex the pain killers, ordering him rest. As the men turned to leave, Wolf thrust the files and flash drive to Eagle.

"Eagle," he commanded. "Check out this information. Plug in the drive, there's a computer here somewhere." Eagle nodded, and the three left.

Wolf re-positioned himself in the chair. After a few minutes of unbroken silence, Wolf spoke:

"You never cease to surprise me, Cub."

Alex's eyes burst open, suddenly alert. Then, upon realization, Alex relaxed. Wolf stared at him in surprise; he thought the boy was asleep.

Nevertheless, Wolf continued. "It was just like Point Blanc, Cub…You're one strange kid. You wake up, not knowing where you are, how you are, and you spew off some kind of report." He shook his head. "They've changed you, kid." Wolf and Alex alike knew that "they" were M16.

"But, don't you worry. Soon, you'll be hightailing it out of here, in a helicopter flying the Union Jack. You'll get some rest, then you'd go back to school, or whatever." Wolf was trying to make Alex feel better, after all he'd done to him, and failing miserably.

This time, Alex spoke. "No, they won't. It's never over. They always want more…"

Wolf cut off his routine. "Then why don't you say 'no,' kid? You put your own self in this mess. Just leave it. Get out of this business. Come back in, say, ten years or so."

Alex shook his head slightly. "You don't understand. I can't. I have no choice. Besides, I could never…" Cub was clearly exhausted, struggling over his own tiredness _and_ the meds. But, he didn't want to put his guard down. And, that made Wolf feel sorry for him. Almost.

"There's always a choice, Cub!" Wolf shouted, startling Alex and even himself. "God, Cub, I can't see you dead, Cub! Cub…"

"Alex," Cub said weakly, softly.

"What?"

"My name is Alex."

And, with that, Alex's eyes shut unwilling and he drifted…drifted…

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A/N: Grr, this chappie was hard to write. Was Wolf too out of character? Was it completely corny? And, I'm sorry if this is sounding very Point Blanc-y or like other fan-fics. I should stop reading Alex Rider fan fiction, eh:D

No, I couldn't. I'm addicted. So, anyway, please review, tell me your thoughts. Anything you want to see out of this?

Thanks to all my faithful readers and reviewers!


	9. Chapter 9: The Statement

A/N: I hereby apologize for the _extreme_ lateness of this chapter. I could rattle off a boatload of excuses, but I'll just tell you the utmost truth. Time has once again escaped me, and it took me about five forevers to get this written! I'm sorry once again!

**DISCLAIMER:** :dramatic sigh: I, for the ninth time, am _not_ Anthony Horowitz, meaning I have no ownership rights to the characters in this chapter that you may recognize.

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Nine: The Statement**

"Sweet jumpin' kangaroos!" Eagle burst in the room, waving a fistful of handouts.

Wolf was startled out of his half-asleep daze. Alex's eyes fluttered open.

"Jeez, Eagle." Wolf said, amused. "You didn't pick that up at Brecon Beacons, did you?"

Eagle tossed the comment aside with a wave of his hand. "Wo-Wolf," he stammered excitedly. "Do you have _any_ idea what this is?" For emphasis, he shook his handful of papers.

"No, but I bet you're going to tell me."

"This flash drive is a backup for Lottswich's organization. Everything Alex said is true. We have profiles for all one-hundred-ninety-seven active criminals, including names and criminal records. There's highly specific details to projects that Rutilus Leo is credited for, _and_ a timetable of projects that Lottswich and his men have already planned. This is crazy. We have access to all the files that ever belonged to this organization. Not even M16 could've asked for better. _And,_ I haven't even gotten through half of it!"

"Where're Snake and Phoenix? Do they know?"

"They're searching through everything right now. Cub was right. Lottswich is a _very_ detailed man."

"What about the other folder?" Alex called weakly. Wolf and Eagle had forgotten he was there.

Nevertheless, Eagle responded without missing a beat. "Practically useless. Wasn't much in that one. But, Cub! _Good_ job!" Eagle was so thrilled he was practically dancing.

Wolf was pleased with this information, but all the _expression_ Eagle was showing was getting him a little irritated. "Okay, Eagle. That's wonderful news," he said dryly. "Has the call been made? Or should I do it?"

A look of thoughtfulness crossed Eagle's face. "Er, I guess you could, Wolf. I don't think Snake or Phoenix has called yet."

Wolf nodded. "Very well, then." He nodded, stiffly, to Alex and left.

Eagle, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable, mumbled something about a bathroom and followed suit, leaving Alex to his thoughts.

Alex was hurting pretty badly. His arm throbbed under its crude wrappings. He silently cursed it. His head itched, but he couldn't scratch it because of the bandages. Snake had said he was lucky, again. He knew it.

More than anything, he just wanted to go home. Alex suspected a broken arm would keep him out of the loop for maybe three weeks, he could take some sick leave. He could just go home and _rest_. Really sleep.

An intense stomach pain made him clench his teeth in agony. He wanted some food. Alex knew his legs wouldn't be able to support him.

In silent agony, Alex waited. And waited. Finally, an anxious Snake entered the room.

"How's it going, Cub?" He asked cheerfully, despite the look on his face. He handed Alex a cup of water, which he gulped down ferociously.

His throat no longer dry, Alex responded, "Can I have some food?" And after a few seconds pause, added, "Please?"

Snake, who had been currently unwrapping Alex's head bandages, nodded. "Eagle! Bring some food in here! Stat!"

"I ain't no waitress!" was the muffled reply. Nevertheless, a slightly annoyed Eagle sauntered in a few minutes later, a plate of food in tow.

Alex reached for the plate, and started munching down a sloppily-made peanut butter sandwich.

Snake, now finished checking Alex over, gave Alex a slightly disgusted look at his eating habits, but Alex was too hungry to care.

"Anyway," Snake continued. "You'll be alright after a few weeks of R&R. We're going to take you to the hospital, though, just so _they_ can check you out."

"What did you find?" Alex, now not as famished, spoke clearly.

"In the flash drive?" Without pausing for an answer, Snake continued. "Everything. Well, nearly everything about Rutilus Leo. Tonight at dusk they'll be sending a few units out there to get Lottswich and his agents. Fast, clean job. If all goes to plan, nobody will get hurt."

"What-"

"Don't worry, you'll be nice and cozy in a hospital bed. Since we have all the information, there can't be any possible way M16 will need you to accompany us," Snake interrupted, anticipating Alex's question.

In silent response, Alex rolled his eyes, thinking that there would be no way he'd be able to be "nice and cozy" in a hospital.

"Where does Lottswich think I am?"

Snake's eyebrows contorted in confusion. "That's our problem. He probably thinks you're dead. If he knew you were alive still, he would have flown off the mountain hours ago."

"How do you know he hasn't already done that?"

"There's two units still there, keeping the headquarters under tight surveillance. If anything happens, we'll know."

A surprisingly sudden and loud whirring noise ceased their conversation. Snake, unfazed by the seemingly random activity, left the room without any words of explanation. Alex didn't mind, though. He'd gotten more information from Snake then he had expected, anyway.

A few moments, Snake reentered the room, accompanied by two men in paramedic uniforms (1), who were carrying a flat, wooden board.

Alex watched them silently, a questioning, apprehensive look in his eyes.

The two men placed the board beside Alex's bed and made a move to try to place him on the stretcher. Alex immediately slapped their hands away with his good arm.

"I can walk, thank you," Alex spat stubbornly.

As if anticipating Alex's reaction, Snake stopped Alex's flailing arm before it inflicted any damage to the poor EMT's.

"Alex, get on the stretcher," Snake said in a firm voice Alex hadn't ever heard from him.

Reluctantly, Alex obeyed the instructions and allowed the paramedics to strap him down. He was severely annoyed.

Alex was carried to an awaiting helicopter, where he was placed and secured in. To his surprise, K-Unit stood on the ground, making no moves towards the copter.

"Aren't you coming with me?" Alex asked the four, and immediately was embarrassed by his childish, whiny tone. Regaining his dignity, Alex asked in a more mature manner, yelling over the din of the rotor blades.

"I mean, aren't you going back to base?"

Surprising Alex again, Wolf answered, "No. Another car's coming for us."

"Oh."

"Do ya think it's safe, y'know, to let him go by himself? After what's happened?" Eagle whispered to Fox.

Fox shook his head. "He'll be fine."

Without further ado, the door to the helicopter shut Alex off from K-Unit. Alex watched as the surly men filed back inside. Alex sighed heavily. It was going to be a long ride.

There were only three people inside of the helicopter; a pilot and the two paramedics who'd carried him in. Despite their uniforms, the meds made no move to check him over. Alex suspected that they would only make a move towards him if he suddenly stopped breathing.

A quiet, tense air hovered over the four. The only words spoken were between the pilot and his radio.

Later, though Alex didn't know the exact amount of time, the helicopter circled high above the trees, and descended onto a landing pad on top of a large, heavily windowed building.

Once they touched down and the rotor blades ceased their spinning, the door was flown open and two different EMT's pulled Alex out quickly. Still on that ridiculous stretcher, Alex was pulled inside, to a very _familiar_ inside. Having been admitted here not a year before, Alex found himself was again in St. Dominic's Hospital.

He closed his eyes, dizzy. The paramedics were yanking him throughout the halls, cutting tight corners quickly. Finally, Alex arrived in a room where he was told to "wait quietly."

A minute later, a kindly-natured doctor came in.

"Good day, Alex. How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic," He replied mordantly. Alex was still a little wary of doctors, especially since what the last one had done to him.

"Glad to hear it!" The doctor was unaffected by Alex's less enthusiastic participation in the little joke. "By the way, my name's Dr. Murphy. Now, I hear you've been in a bit of an accident, eh?"

Alex nodded. He didn't remember these doctors here to be so chatty.

_Must be a new guy,_ Alex thought sourly.

Dr. Murphy started checking him over, wincing a bit at the site of his ribs. Nevertheless, Alex was patched up quickly. An X-Ray confirmed his broken arm and ribs. A Glasgow Coma Scale pronounced a Grade III concussion.

Finally, Alex was finally taken out of the stretcher, and placed in a wheelchair.

"So, what's the verdict?" Alex asked after Dr. Murphy finished his work.

"Bed rest, fluids for dehydration, antibiotics," Dr. Murphy proclaimed. "Oh, and we're going to have to plaster up that arm."

Much to the exasperation of Alex, he was wheeled by a nurse to an adjoining room, where he was fitted in a white cast. From there, he was wheeled to a hospital room, the whiteness of the walls and bed matching the starkness of his cast.

Alex, unaware until then how tired he was, sleepily closed his eyes as soon as his head, encased in four inches of bandages, touched the surprisingly comfortable pillow.

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"Copy that," the leader said and cut off the line. He cursed, kicking a box that lay nearby.

"He ain't gonna like this," the fourth – the youngest – spoke tentatively, quietly.

"I know I sure don't," the leader said, surly.

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Mrs. Jones drummed her fingers across the armrest of her seat. She seemed flustered, and it wasn't because the car was traveling at least eighty kilometers an hour. An ever-present peppermint was currently grinding between her teeth, the sugary candy unable to cure her uneasiness.

The car came to a screeching halt in front of a large building. Without waiting for the driver to do it for her, she opened the door and stepped at of the car, giving her hair a fluff.

With an air of importance and dignity, she walked through the revolving doors, striding to the front desk. An anxious nurse cowered below her.

"Alex Cavalier," she said quickly, smiling inwardly at the cleverness of the name. Cavalier, as she had recalled, was French for "rider."

Mrs. Jones resumed her somewhat annoying drumming on the desk as the lady typed in the information. She frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I need some I.D. Are you a family member?"

Mrs. Jones rolled her eyes, annoyed. Impatiently, she thrust over her badge. The nurse glanced at it, gulped, and handed it back to her with wide eyes.

"What room is he in?" Mrs. Jones asked.

"1012 A," The nurse answered quietly, afraid.

"Thank you." With that, Mrs. Jones stalked off throughout the winding corridors. To the untrained eye, she would have looked familiarized with the place. In all truth, Mrs. Jones had never even been to the hospital before. But, nevertheless, she walked as if she owned the place.

Finally, without _much_ trouble, Mrs. Jones stood in front of Room 1012 A. Taking a deep breath, she walked inside.

A boy lay on the bed in front of her. Where there weren't bandages, there were bruises on his muscular frame. He slept, though not soundly. His eyes raced back and forth beneath his lidded eyes. His face was twisted as if in concentration, or in pain.

Mrs. Jones, quite nervous at this point, gave a small cough. The boy's eyes fluttered open immediately, scanning the bed, the room, her. His eyes narrowed.

"Alex," she said pleasantly.

"What do you want?" Alex demanded.

"I just wanted to speak with you a bit."

"Oh, _now_ you want to talk to me," he retorted with words dripping of sarcasm. "After you left me at some mad man's place for nearly two weeks. After they nearly _killed_ me, now you want to speak to me."

"It wasn't like that, Alex. We had men looking for you day and night. How do you think we found you, anyway?"

"Process of elimination," Alex spat out. "It sure did take you long enough."

Mrs. Jones sighed. She knew this wasn't going to be easy.

"Alex…" she tried again.

"No!" Alex shouted, wincing at the aftermath of pain that his yell had brought. "Don't even try to talk to me like that. You use me, get me nearly killed, make me live a double life, and then, when I may actually _need_ you, you don't care. You never care."

With that, he turned his head away from Mrs. Jones, acutely aware of his childishness, but too angry to be affected by it.

"Alex," She was glad he didn't have another outburst. "You must know that we finger-combed the whole of England and beyond to find you. It took us, I must say, a little over a day to plan your safe escape. Again, you took matters into your own hands, which was very courageous and valiant of you-"

"Courageous?" Alex interrupted, bewildered. "They attacked me and I fought back. A dog has that kind of courage." (2)

"Well," Mrs. Jones continued. "Nevertheless, now your safe, and that's all that matters."

Alex snorted. Mrs. Jones reddened a bit; even she knew how false and overused that was.

Calming herself with another deep breath, Mrs. Jones decided that she should, per se, spit it out.

"Alex, we need another favor of you." His eyes narrowing dangerously, she hurried on. "We need you to go back."

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A/N: Ah, was it obvious? Please answer me that! I surely promise that another chapter will be up soon, and there will be no more, er, delays as this chapter was. LOL, originally, I was going to call this chapter, "The Question," but then I thought people would think there was going to be some engagement going on:D

Are they really called paramedic uniforms? I had no idea, as you might have noticed. So, if you know what they really are called, please tell me.

Ah, from one of my favorite movies, "Troy"! _Any_ movie with Orlando Bloom in it is great. Am I right, ladies?


	10. Chapter 10: Fathers, Guns, and Drunks

"Alex, we need another favor of you

A/N: Chapter ten! We've finally reached the double digits!

**DISCLAIMER:** Alex Rider is mine…ha….just kidding…not really.

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Ten: Fathers, Guns, and Drunks**

"_Alex, we need another favor of you." His eyes narrowing dangerously, she hurried on. "We need you to go back."_

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Alex felt himself shake his head violently. "No," he protested. "I won't do it."

"But, Alex," Mrs. Jones felt as if she were walking on thin ice again. "You must. Without you, we cannot bring down Lottswich."

"Without me?" Alex replied sarcastically. "Without me, so you claim, you couldn't have defeated Scorpia. Without me, you say you wouldn't have been able to stop those Stormbreaker computers. Well, there are other agents! Send them in my stead. They have more experience, they are more able! They are not…" his voice quieted to such a level that he could barely hear his own voice. "A boy."

"Alex," Mrs. Jones pleaded. "You know the territory. You know the way around the building. You know how things go over there. The schedules, the guards…"

"Those are all on the memory stick! All of it, isn't it?"

"Why…yes, but the memory stick does not give us someone who's familiar with the place. Alex, you are the only one we can use who really knows that place. Your familiarity of the hospital and of Lottswich will save lives and will help us get rid of Lottswich for good. You do understand that, do you?"

Alex resented the way he was spoken to as if he were a puerile child. As if he didn't know.

"Alex, you have a duty to your country. Britain needs you, and if you had any sense of patriotism you would answer her call."

"A duty to my country?" He shouted, bewildered. "How about _your_ duty, eh? I doubt sending fourteen year old boys to take care of adults' business is considered a 'duty' in Parliament!"

Mrs. Jones was beside herself. Years of persuading world-renown leaders and governments had not prepared her for this.

She gave one last attempt. "Alex," her voice was uncharacteristic: soothing, gentle. "You are the last person in this world I would expect to not be jumping at this chance." Mrs. Jones winced at what a lie that was. "You alone know the pain he caused you, emotionally, physically. Lottswich made you worthless; he made you fold under his command. He'll do the same thing again and again, to other people, to other families. If you let him go, you'll have their blood on your hands. Since you don't want to capture him, Lottswich will murder countless other people. Like Alvarez."

Alex stiffened. Suddenly, memories of the CIA operative flashed through his mind. He could still hear the loud _crack_ the gun emitted milliseconds before the spirit of life left Mario Alvarez forever.

"Oh, yes, Alex, we know about agent Alvarez." She felt quite cruel to remind Alex, but that was the only way she would be able to get through to him. "Such a loss," Mrs. Jones added, shaking her head remorsefully. "He had a wife and two little girls. Do you really want Lottswich to do that again?"

Alex jaw clenched tightly. Her words were true. If he let Lottswich go, it would be his fault for every person Lottswich or his men kill. And, that could be hundreds. Thousands.

He made his decision. Hating himself for allowing Mrs. Jones to manipulate him once again, Alex spoke:

"I'll go," he complied, noticing the brief look of relief that flashed across Mrs. Jones' face. "But," he added pointedly. "I get a gun."

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Mrs. Jones nervously sucked on yet another peppermint – her fifth that day. Most people knew her for her signature candy, but didn't know why she was so addicted to the sweets. She was an avid smoker for years, but was required to quit the habit when she entered the business. Some quitters choose biting their nails over a cigarette, but she turned to peppermints to satisfy her craving for nicotine.

"Mrs. Jones," Mr. Blunt started. "Nice visit to the hospital, I presume?"

"Splendid," though it had been quite the contrary, in her opinion.

"And the boy?"

Mrs. Jones knew he wasn't inquiring about Alex's health. "We have, erm, compromised."

"Compromised how?" Mr. Blunt asked suspiciously.

"He wants a gun."

"A gun?"

Mrs. Jones waited breathlessly for an outburst. But one never came. Alan Blunt was quite the professional.

"He won't get one. I doubt he knows how to properly use one without shooting himself."

Mrs. Jones would've rather him to have yelled. It may have been easier. "I understand your viewpoint on Alex and guns, Alan, but I think we ought to let him have one."

"And why is that?"

"To make him feel as if he is in control. He doesn't trust us, suspects we didn't really search for him after he'd gone missing. But, if we let him get away with the gun, then maybe he won't rebel against us and do something incredibly foolish."

"The boy is already foolish."

Mr. Blunt turned his chair around, facing his desk. His back to her, Mrs. Jones took that as her sign to leave. Inwardly, she was surprised at how quickly he had submitted to her requests. Nevertheless, she made a precautionary call to the Arms & Ammunition department to put in request for the best gun they had.

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Alex hefted the bag on his shoulder, his movements slow and awkward because of his cast and broken ribs.

A black Range River pulled in front of the hospital. Alex slowly made his way to the car, careful to not get his cast wet from the drizzling rain. He pulled open the door and slid into the backseat.

The driver did not speak for a full twenty minutes as they rolled through the London streets. Alex didn't attempt at conversation either. There was no need.

Finally, they arrived at the entrance of the Royal and General Bank. Without waiting for the driver to assist him, Alex bounded out the door and into the building.

Alex opened his mouth, prepping himself for a grueling encounter with the front desk lady. He could come in here every day for a month, and they would never recognize him as a spy.

"Alex," a falsely-cheery Mrs. Jones piped up, stepping out to greet him.

He hadn't seen her, and was ashamed at the look of surprised that surely flashed across his face.

"Mrs. Jones," he replied, still not too happy with her after the event at the hospital.

"Come with me, please." She was more comfortable here; this was her territory.

Alex complied and followed. She took him through a maze of corridors, offices, and departments, most of which he never recalled seeing before.

They arrived at Blunt's office, which Alex had been to several times, but not by the route Mrs. Jones had led him.

A bit anxious about seeing this strange man, Alex shifted his weight from one foot to another as Mrs. Jones knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Mrs. Jones opened the door and casually sauntered into the office, Alex slipping in behind her.

"Alex, glad to see you're in good health." Mr. Blunt forced a weak smile, quite looking as if he were in pain.

Alex literally bit his tongue in attempt to not shoot off a sarcastic remark. When dealing with people like Mr. Blunt, Alex had learned, you must be calm and collected.

"Alex," Mr. Blunt continued, getting down to the business at hand. "I hear you've requested a firearm while you and your team visit Opal Rehabilitation Center."

He talked as if Alex was an invited guest of Lottswich's. "Yes," Alex responded. "For my safety."

"You would have a team of highly qualified SAS members to protect you."

"I would think," Alex spat, enunciating each syllable. "That they would be more worried about taking down Lottswich and his men than watching over me."

"True, true," Mr. Blunt agreed, shocking Alex. "I wouldn't think SAS men would be too fond of babysitting."

Mrs. Jones flinched. She was preparing herself for a war between the man and boy.

"Babysitting?" Alex replied sarcastically. "Oh, so now I need babysitter, after taking care of myself for who knows how long! I can escape from madmen but I still need someone to put to me to bed!"

"Alex! Why have a gun when we all know you won't shoot it!"

A blanket of silence covered the three. Alex didn't know Mr. Blunt knew about that. He'd thought that his poor attempt to kill Mrs. Jones had stayed between him and her.

_I should've known,_ Alex thought. _You can never put trust in a spy._

No matter the anger Alex felt towards Mr. Blunt that bubbled at the surface, deep down Alex knew Mr. Blunt was right. He didn't think he could ever kill someone like that. He'd seen too much damage that guns did; physically, emotionally.

"Alex," Mr. Blunt voice had a little less edginess to it. If it had been anyone else, it was half of a point away from being soothing, kind. "I will not put a gun in a fourteen-year-old's hand and tell them to shoot. If I put a gun in your hand, you'll become Yassen, or worse. Guns are for cowards, people too afraid to affront their combatant face to face, but would rather strike them down meters away, when they, themselves, are not vulnerable."

After his small speech, Mr. Blunt cleared his throat, his face returning to stone and his voice once again gruff. Alex had wondered about the probability of Mrs. Jones having children of her own, but then, in that moment, he weighed the idea of Mr. Blunt being a father. He shook his head; _that_ was preposterous.

"Mrs. Jones, send Alex down to meet his team." Turning to Alex, Mr. Blunt informed, "You'll be leaving in twenty minutes."

With that, Mrs. Jones escorted Alex out the hall. While they took a different, less complex way to where Alex would meet his "team," the stubborn, defiant streak in Alex was angered by Mr. Blunt's own persistence of not permitting Alex a means of defending himself.

Mrs. Jones stopped abruptly. A bit flustered, Alex followed suite. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts he hadn't realized they'd gotten to the room where he was to meet his squad. By the blandness of the room and the chill in the air, Alex supposed that they were in a debriefing room of some type.

And, upon looking around at the occupants of the space, all annoyance that Alex had currently felt on behalf of Mr. Blunt was transmitted to his alleged "assault force."

Thirty soldiers cried out in unison, "Sir, yes, sir!" Most uniforms looked wrinkled, creased.

"Sergeant," Mrs. Jones clearly spoke. "A word."

The officer nodded and went with Mrs. Jones out the door, leaving Alex alone with a platoon of men. It seemed, however, that Alex was unnoticed. Then, as school children being left out for recess, all broke loose.

Twenty-six broke up into small clusters, babbling in idle conversation, moving about recklessly. The distinct smell of nicotine wafted into Alex's nostrils. Four men, however, stood near the back of the room, hands clasped behind their backs and alert. He stiffened, his face turned into a scowl. These couldn't be SAS men, they were drunkards.

An unknowable amount of time later, the sergeant and Mrs. Jones returned. Seeing the chaos that had erupted while his presence wasn't there, the sergeant yelled, red in the face:

"Assemble in your ranks! Stop this foolhardy nonsense at once! You are not children! You do not play! You are soldiers, and you will fall to attention at once!"

The banter quickly ceased; the cigarettes put out. The men scattered like chickens back to their rightful places.

By her stiff figure, Alex knew Mrs. Jones was unpleasantly shocked, and shocking a government military officer wasn't an easy task.

Turning to Mrs. Jones, Alex said, quite smugly, "I think I'm going to need that gun now."

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A/N: Wow, this is MUCH longer than I'd thought…I decided to split this chapter into two, so you readers can read what I've written up so far. I'm serious; it would be like eight more pages or something if I wrote it all out. Then, you'd have to wait like another week or something…So, yea!

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!


	11. Chapter 11: The Return

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Alex Rider or anything about it, as I have stated for the last ten chapters. You're daft if you don't yet understand that. :D

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Eleven: The Return**

Mrs. Jones was still standing agape, unbelieving that the security of the whole of Britain was in the hands of these hooligans.

Alex, on the other hand, found the situation quite amusing.

"Yes," he said sarcastically, turning to Mrs. Jones. "These _'highly qualified' _soldiers would surely protect me. Thank you _so_ much for employing them."

"Who _is_ this git?" One of the men asked sourly, not bothering to keep his voice low.

"New recruits, I presume?" Mrs. Jones inquired.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the Sergeant. "About as trainable as old dogs. Only the Lord knows how they passed training."

"Is there no one else?"

The Sergeant shook his head. "The rest of the squads are on active duty, mostly in the Middle East."

Mrs. Jones nodded her understanding. Looking promptly at the watch secured around her wrist, she glanced at it with concern. "Seems I'm nearly late for a meeting. Alex, you will be alright with the Sergeant and his men, yes?"

Alex nodded mutely, annoyed that she made him look like a schoolchild in front of the soldiers.

Once Mrs. Jones left, the Sergeant snapped to attention. "Snake," he commanded. "The papers."

Alex's ears perked up at the familiar name. He had only last seen Snake a couple of days ago, but the conversation with Blunt made it seem like an eternity.

Snake stepped forward, a pile of "the papers" in tow. He handed them over to the Sergeant and glanced over at Alex. He didn't seem surprised by Alex's addition to the group, even though Alex was surprised to see him.

The Sergeant handed the mysterious papers over to Alex. Coughing slightly, he announced to the room,

"This is Cub. You will call him Cub and nothing else. You do as he says. And, yes, everything he says. Don't come whining to me if you don't follow his orders and get yourself hurt. Is that clear?"

The silence seemed enough of a response to the Sergeant.

"Good," He continued, then turned to Alex. "Those are the printouts from what was on the memory stick."

"You've examined the whole file already?"

"Yes, qualified researchers and strategists have been working around the clock for days. They found an path, a hidden one, that's leads to the back of the building from an unnamed field. Want to take a look at it?"

Alex nodded and proceeded to sit at a desk that was stationed nearby. The secret route was outlined in a yellow highlighter. As Alex traced it with his eyes, he saw how that it crossed the exact place where he had been swept up into that tree. This was the same path Lottswich must've taken with his car. This pathway was perfect, strategic-wise, for their mission. The problem was that it was a little out-of-date.

"May I make some minor adjustments to the map?" He asked, knowing the answer. And, sure enough, the Sergeant nodded his approval.

Ignoring the irritated looks of the men, he grabbed a pen that was conveniently located in a holder on the desk and started his work.

The blueprints were mostly accurate, though Alex saw a few mistakes and noted them, revising the prints until it was a nearly exact replica of the real building. His handwriting was a bit sloppy; the cast made the pen feel awkward in his hand.

While Alex worked on the task at hand, the Sergeant was briefing his soldiers on the mission detail.

"Cub," the Sergeant said, seeing that Alex was finished. "There's a projector over there. Can you show us the safest route to enter and exit the building?"

Alex nodded and relocated to the said projector. Placing the paper upon the lighted glass, the blueprints were immediately shown on a large screen.

Using a pointer stick as an indicator, he used it to circle the already outlined path.

"This is the best way to get to the target. Lottswich won't know that we're coming, and he won't know that we know of his little pathway." Quickly, he showed the group certain locations he had indicated. "These are traps. See that long line? It's an electrocuted fence." He then pointed to the back of the building. "This is perhaps the only unguarded door of the supposed hospital. Though, it may be more heavily secured if they know that's how I escaped –"

"Why can't we follow Code 14546 A and have a rooftop assault. Then, they won't know we're coming. But, I guess a _boy_ wouldn't know that," A mocking soldier interrupted. The other men broke out into deep laughter.

"That's a great idea," Alex responded sarcastically, without missing a beat. "Of course, if you want to get killed, that is. At least five guards patrol the roof around the clock –"

"It's forty against five. That's not exactly impossible odds, is it?"

Alex was getting quite annoyed by their puerile, disrespectful interruptions.

"Forty against five and three .50 caliber M2's," Alex corrected.

The soldiers didn't like this fourteen year old making them look foolish. Another began to retort when the Sergeant exploded.

"Enough!" He shouted, making a few visibly jump. "Stop this bickering at once! I'd boot you all if I could!"

Alex finished his presentation without further interjections. The Sergeant approved the plan Alex had developed, and explained it to his men.

"Then, on my call, abort and head back to the transport vehicle," The Sergeant concluded, as a call came in. He answered it in quick, hushed tones, and promptly hung up.

"Review the details while I check on our transportation." With that, the Sergeant left.

Reviewing the details was all but on the soldiers' minds. Most quickly resumed their smoking and card playing. One seemed to be flipping through the SAS manual of codes and terms.

_This has got to be the worst __company of soldiers I've ever seen,_ Alex thought.

He watched as a few of the soldiers ambled over to him. He wasn't worried by this, in fact, he expected it.

"So, schoolboy wants to play soldier today?" The first taunted.

Alex sighed. This was going to be a long day. Rubbing his bandaged head absentmindedly, he answered,

"I suppose so. However, seeing that you are considered a soldier, I don't think I want to be one now."

They glared. Each raised himself to his full height, as if that would intimidate Alex. It didn't.

They continued hurling insults at him; Alex paid them no mind. Instead, he entertained himself by watching a spider crawl up the wall opposite him. It was quite entertaining.

"Hey!" The sharp voice startled Alex out of his spider-watching. "Tiger's talking to you, and when Tiger talks, you listen."

The first man – Tiger – nodded approvingly. Bulging muscles rippled under his tight-fitting uniform.

"Sorry, Tony," Alex mumbled derisively, not in the least remorseful.

He saw the fist coming and easily dodged it. A string of curse words followed at it made contact with the wall.

"You little –" Tiger cursed, cradling his injured hand.

Alex shrugged, and that's when they grabbed him.

Strong hands held him as another man punched him twice in the face. Alex sharply elbowed his captors and flipped backwards off the chair, landing in a karate stance. He beckoned the growling men with a twitch of his hand.

They charged. Alex felt his plastered cast unite with a man's nose, breaking it. This allowed one of the other men to give him a blow to the head. Alex fell, cursing as he went. The expected punches and kicks did not come.

Instead, Snake's voice yelled above him:

"Stop it! Stop it right now!"

Assuming that danger was now unapparent, Alex unrolled himself off the floor and stood, rubbing his now throbbing head.

Wolf, Eagle, Phoenix, and Snake all bound his attackers in wrestling holds. The rest of the soldiers stood at the outskirts off the half-circle, fearful.

"You blubbering idiots!" Wolf cried out, words drowned in malice. His face was a violent shade of red, which was never a good thing. "What do you think you're doing?"

Tiger spoke. "The kid was trying to attack us," he lied. "We only fought back to defend ourselves.

"Like my mother's gold shoe he was!" Eagle yelled. K-Unit's heads turned towards him. He did say the most peculiar things.

Alex gingerly touched his bruising cheek and swelling lip. _That_ was going to look really nice.

"You okay there, Cub?" Snake asked, near caringly. Nevertheless, Alex was touched. Recent events must've changed things between the five.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his lip garbling his words.

K-Unit released Tiger and his unit, tossing them on the floor. The men stood up ruefully, trying to maintain some pride and dignity.

The door to the room opened. The Sergeant stepped in.

"Men, grab your gear. Copters are waiting outside."

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Alex leaned his head against the cool window of the helicopter. It was hot inside the plane, and, besides, he had a killer headache.

"What happened to you?" The Sergeant asked him harshly.

"Some tiger and its pack got me," Alex shrewdly responded.

The Sergeant looked at him quizzically, but Alex turned his hand and continued gazing at the landscape.

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"Get up men! Move, move, move!" Alex watched as the men scrambled out of the helicopters, stumbling under the weight of their heavy packs.

They landed about two thousand meters away from the hospital, under the cover of the night.

The various units dispersed, hopefully going to their assigned posts along the path. Alex, as planned, joined up with K-Unit.

Wolf, Eagle, Snake, and Phoenix were already walking. Their boots made little noise as they crossed the countryside. Alex followed their steps, bringing up the rear, as each stride brought him closer to the place he had hoped he would never return to.

As they tramped through the semi-familiar forest, Alex silently pointed out all traps and sensors he knew about and could see. Despite the short notice, all was going on plan. Alex was genuinely pleased that the new recruits had finally succumbed to their leaders and weren't following their rash, stubborn heads.

The signal was given. Silently, a member of five units, in K-Unit's case, Wolf, simultaneously raised their guns, the camouflaged muzzles emerging from the dense forest.

The remaining twenty men appeared from behind. Their crouched, tensed bodies made way to the towering building. However, their movements were a bit sloppy.

_Good thing we're aiming to be caught_, Alex thought. _Or we'd never be able to defeat them_.

Their plan was actually quite simple: to take over Lottswich by brute force. They might've had better guns, but Alex and the SAS had numbers, outside intelligence, and the useful element of surprise.

As Alex expected, the soldiers never had a chance to make it the back door. The guards saw the approaching men roughly a hundred meters from the building.

An alarm sounded, and suddenly a squadron of armed men burst forth from the said building, shooting as they charged.

Alex counted quickly. There was ten of the "enemy," twenty SAS. A skirmish between the two sides lasted for about forty seconds, then the soldiers dropped back, feigning defeat.

As Lottswich's men pressed closer to the edge of the forest, another signal was given.

Wolf and the other four gunmen opened fire, nearly obliterating all ten men. All units burst from the forest again, rushing towards the building.

More of Rutilius Leo members came from the building, attacking the soldiers.

Alex, unarmed, dodged the bullets and fighting men and ran towards the building. He knew Lottswich, he would try to escape. Alex, not knowing what he was going to do when he found Lottswich, slipped in the back door, unnoticed.

Alex climbed into the duct vents, using the system that had saved his life before. Depending on vague memory, he felt his way until he approached Lottswich's office. He wasn't as quiet as he had hoped to be, for his cast banged against the metal sides.

Alex looked around the office; Lottswich was not there. Hoping he hadn't already made his escape, Alex climbed down from the vent, one-handed.

Determing that Lottswich was, indeed, not there, he walked over to his grand desk. The plate: REMUS LOTTSWICH shined in the half-light.

Alex glanced out the window that spanned behind the desk. Stories down, the fighting was ceasing; it was almost over.

He started rummaging through the drawers, hoping to find something useful. Secretly, Alex wished he'd find a gun in there.

A sharp sound stopped Alex in his tracks. He looked up, and saw something completely horrid: Remus Lottswich. The man was so shocked that his hand still clung to the doorknob.

A heavy silence paused all words, all thought, all breath.

They both regained their composure at the same time. Lottswich slammed the door shut and pulled a pistol from his belt; Alex readied himself in a balanced, fighting position.

"You," Lottswich spat, eyes narrowing dangerously. His gun was pointed towards Alex's bandaged head. "Are dead."

"Appears not," Alex retorted, trying to measure his time. He half-glanced back out the window. Only a few fought, dead and wounded men littered the ground. He could faintly hear the whirring of a helicopter in the distance.

"If I were you," Alex rushed on, attempting to distract Lottswich. "I would get better men. You know, you can only succeed if your followers are loyal to you, Lottswich."

"They will be taken care of," Lottswich reassured. "If I were you, I would've stayed gone when I was lucky enough to escape. Your only way out now is death. Why are you here, foolish boy?"

"I forgot to thank you for your hospitality." Alex sneered.

"Ah, Alex, I nearly forgot your witticism. Highly amusing, it is. But, Alex, I'm sorry to say that I have no time for your little jokes. I have a plane to catch, and you have to die." With that, he cocked his pistol. "Goodbye, Alex Rider. You are no longer admirable in death."

For a grueling second of time, Alex watched as Remus started to pull the trigger. Another idea, a final thought, flashed in Alex's mind.

"Wait!" Alex shouted, surprise stopping Lottswich.

"What now?" He asked irritably.

"You are nothing but a coward! At least fight me! Man on man! Show me your strength. If you pull that trigger, you will be a coward, known only for brutally murdering a defenseless fourteen-year-old. Fight me and kill me; then you will show your power."

Alex watched breathlessly as Lottswich toyed with the idea in his mind.

"No," he responded, an eternity later. "I will shoot you. I will watch you die. I will enjoy it." Once again, he raised his gun.

Alex winced when he heard the resounding bang. He stiffened, waiting for the white-hot pain as it shot up his body. He waited for the blackness.

Alex looked up. Two men had Lottswich pinned between them, another began handcuffing him. The gun lay on the floor, discarded, forgotten.

"Do not fight back, Lottswich! You are done, Lottswich, as is your men, as is Rutilus Leo." The Sergeant's words were crisp, stony.

Lottswich's shoulders drooped, his resisting stopped. He allowed the men to drag him. He neared Alex, a murderous look in his eye.

Alex responded with a smirk, Lottswich's time had come.

Lottswich was now directly in front of Alex. He jerkily came to a stop, the men holding him stumbled. In that fraction of a second, Lottswich brought back his freed foot and kicked Alex in the chest.

Alex, surprised, couldn't stop himself.

He propelled backwards, through the glass window. He saw the window shatter, he felt himself falling, and heard Lottswich shout triumphantly,

"I will watch you die! I will enjoy it!"

And then, impact.

Alex Rider fell into the blackness.

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A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait! Well, as you may have noticed, this was a _grueling_ chapter to write. I just couldn't get into it, and if it sounds completely horrid, my apologizes. When I ended chapter ten, I thought writing this chapter would be naturally easy. Well, successfully ignoring it for a week proved me different. My Muse did not delight me with her presence, so, therefore, I blame it on her.

Just kidding.

Not really.

So, your thoughts? I always love ending a story on a cliffhanger…hate reading one, but love writing one!

Thanks, as always, to my devoted readers and reviewers alike! Thank you for pushing me through this excruciating and enjoyable process!


	12. Chapter 12: An Ending

The impact jarred every bone in his body

A/N: Sorry for the immensely long wait! But, it's the final, yes FINAL, chapter! (Yes, a quite corny chapter name!)

**DISCLAIMER:** If it's taken you twelve chapters of reading these "disclaimers" and not realizing that I don't own Alex Rider, I pray for you. Really, I do.

**NEVER THE SAME**

**Chapter Twelve: An Ending**

The impact jarred every bone in his body.

The void surrounded him; time slipped through his fingers. Everything was warped, muddled.

He heard screams, pounding footsteps, a siren screaming.

Then, voices.

He could hear their presence, but could not feel their practiced hands examining his body.

"Pulse…definite craniocerebral trauma…lift him carefully, now…"

It was difficult for the words to travel up to his brain. Everything was confusing to him, chaos.

His world lurched suddenly, and there was no more.

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White.

That's all there was; all that existed.

Heaven.

Alex Rider smiled, peaceful. Finally, he was relaxed, content in this state of bliss.

Forever.

Then, the harmony drifted away, disarray taking its imminent place.

The white slowly began to disintegrate; whispered words filled the comforting silence.

"Is he smiling?" A gruff voice stood out from the rest.

Alex inwardly groaned, despite his fogged brain. Disgruntled, he thought. _Wolf has to follow me even to heaven?_ That just didn't seem fair.

He blinked a few times; the blurred room stopped its swaying and came into focus. Surrounding him were the familiar faces of Wolf, Snake, Phoenix, and Eagle.

Eagle was the first to notice Alex conscious form. His face crumpled under a toothy grin.

"Back here again, Cub? Missed it too much, eh?"

The rest of the bystanders turned quickly to Alex's bed.

"Geez, Cub," Snake commented, failing at his small effort attempts at sounding angry. "Warn us next time you decide to fall out of fourth-story windows, okay?"

"Will do," Alex croaked. He looked down. Tubes and needles were connected to his body. It somewhat disgusted him. He adverted his eyes from the grotesque sight.

"So," Alex continued, licking his dry lips. "What happened?"

A sticky silence fell over the room. It seemed no one wanted to be reminded of that close call.

"Well," Snake began, his words measured. "As you know, J-Unit and the Sergeant arrested Lottswich. Man, was that a close call," he commented, shaking his head in disbelief. "He'd almost gotten away. In fact," he looked up at Alex, "he would've if you hadn't been there. How did you know where he'd be?"

"I knew Lottswich would escape, the coward, as soon as he would get the chance. And, I sort of guessed he'd leave from his office. But, never mind that. Go on," Alex urged.

"Well, Wolf, Snake, Phoenix, and I were all busy outside, er, taking care of Lottswich's men. Then, Wolf saw you run inside the building."

"You did?"

"Yeah," Wolf answered curtly. "So, I signaled J-Unit and the Sergeant to go after ya'."

"Why?"

K-Unit exchanged nervous glances. "Well, you see, Cub," Snake looked a bit sheepish. "You weren't supposed to go anywhere. Actually, we had strict orders not to let you get in the fight either."

"Really?"

"Yea, M16 didn't want you involved. They just wanted you to get there, help us the best you could information-wise, then they were going to pull you out. Things got a bit messed up, I suppose," Eagle piped up.

Now, Alex was angry. "And why are you telling me this now?"

"You deserve it," was Phoenix's quiet response. Alex looked to the corner where Phoenix awkwardly stood, and Alex nodded acknowledging in his direction. Because of Phoenix's late addition to K-Unit, the two didn't know each other too much.

"And, anyway," Snake continued on. "J-Unit and the Sergeant followed you. Actually," he added as an after-thought, "I remember Badger telling me that you gave them a bit of, er, challenge."

Alex smiled. Mental images of grown men lumbering through small vents were almost too much.

"They almost got there too late. From what I heard, Lottswich was about to shoot you." Alex nodded again, he obviously knew this.

"So, while J-Unit was cuffing Lottswich up and the Sergeant was yelling orders all over the place, it seems they made a mistake-"

"A mistake?!" Wolf exploded. "They bloody nearly killed Cub because of their foolish, amateur _mistakes._"

"It was pretty mad of them to not fully bind Lottswich, seeing how he was an international high-level threat and all.

"So, after that, everything got a little chaotic. Me and the rest of K-Unit busted in about the time when you, er, fell. Lottswich tried to use the distraction to his benefit and started thrashing around the place, trying to get loose. It took like four of us, but we finally got him under control. Once he was all locked up and in the squad car, medics were already down there with you. Geez, we all thought you died, or at least broke all the bones in your body. Only the Lord knows how you got out of that one with only a broken leg and a few ribs."

Alex grinned; his luck was back.

The group talked for seemingly hours, the awkwardness that once guarded them gone.

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"'Ello?" Alex Rider nearly shouted into the telephone. Silence answered him.

"Hello?" Alex repeated, annoyed. "Hello? Is anyone th-"

"Alex?" Alex cringed at the all too familiar voice.

"Yes, Blunt?" Alex responded, terse.

"Alex, I request your presence at a meeting five o'clock this evening at the bank. Are you able to attend?" Even though he still held his controlling tone, Alan Blunt spoke in a more soft, respective tone.

Alex pondered his choices. He knew going to that meeting meant another mission, another villain, another close call. On the other hand, if he didn't go, it still wouldn't be the end. There would be more calls, more _persistent_ calls; others would still plot his next move. But, one refusal, this act of defiance, would make Alex feel a bit better. For once, he could be the one making his decisions, sketching his own path. Besides, who was Alan Blunt's, Mrs. Jones', or really anybody's place to make the choices that could determine his own future? He was the captain of his own life ship, and he was going to finally handle the wheel.

Alex nodded to himself. He had made his decision.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blunt," though he truly was sorry at all. "But my schedule's full. There is simply no way I can fit you in." With that, he forcefully hung up the phone, pleased by the resounding _bang._

After thinking for a moment, Alex once again retrieved the phone and immediately started dial a number that would be forever engraved in his memory.

Now feeling quite self-assured, Alex spoke into the receiver, confidence enveloping his words. "Tom? Yes, hey, this is Alex. Yea, I was wondering if you could give me, like, the past month's maths homework?"

THE END

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EPILOGUE

"Today, tranquilizers are widely used by law officials when in pursuit of criminals. Though they do not physically harm the victim-"

A slight rapping on the door interrupted Mr. White's health class. Everyone – students and teacher alike – turned to face the interrupter. A well-built boy stood in the doorway, supported by a pair of crutches. A large plaster cast encased one of his legs.

Mr. White spoke up, irritation darkening his voice. "You're late."

"My immense apologies, sir." It was hard to say if these words were of sarcastic manner or not. Nevertheless, the boy hobbled up to the front of the room. He handed Mr. White a note, and stood by patiently as he read it.

Mr. White looked up, sighing. "Please take your seat. I suggest you listen intently. My lecture on uses of sedatives will certainly be on the next exam."

"Yes, sir," his solemn voice answered. He shuffled towards his seat.

"Alex," Mr. White called after him. He turned and looked at him, questionably. "Good to see you back, Alex. Did those snipers do that to your leg, there?"

"Yes," Alex grimaced as he told the lie. If only Mr. White knew…

"Funny," Mr. White muttered, mainly to himself. "I could've sworn they said it had been chest injuries…"

Alex took his seat; the only empty one in the room. Mr. White had just resumed his speech when a folded piece of paper fluttered onto Alex's desk.

He picked it up, unfolding the tattered binder paper.

_So, Alex how was it?_ Tom's handwriting was cramped and resembled chicken scratch, just as Alex had always remembered it.

With one eye on Mr. White, Alex slowly retrieved a pen and scribbled down a response: _It's a long story. I'll tell you after school._ He refolded it and tossed it Tom, who was waiting anxiously.

Alex looked around the classroom. Sure enough, at least seventy-five percent of the class was glaring, whispering, or held a questioning look in their eyes. Alex smiled self-assuredly. Oh, the irony of it all! He left one lunatic to get only a replacement of twenty more. With the murderous looks he was getting, he wasn't quite sure if he would make it through the class alive.

_This is going to be one long day,_ Alex thought. _I wonder if I can ward them with my crutches and a chemistry book…_

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Phew, _Never the Same_ is finally complete! Can you believe it took me the better part of four months to complete twelve chapters? Sorry for the extremely long wait for this chapter (it was twenty days!); I've had some quite annoyingly unfortunate computer issues lately. If _anyone_ knows how to get rid of this thing called "spyware" for free, please tell me!

If the whole hospital-room conversation sounded forced and monotonous, I'm sorry. I don't know, it was hard to get all the information I thought you might want to know across in a grammatically correct, flow-y way! (Personally, I'm a bit pleased with the last bit of the chapter :smiles:).

So, anyway, please tell me, as always, your thoughts on this chapter, plot, or story as a whole!

Oh, and, if the epilogue was just unneeded, sorry again. A reviewer once inquired if I was going to add something more about Alex's class. I hope this sustained them! It was _really_ short, and not much of an epilogue, but what the hay! :D

Now, _(drum roll please)_, a thanks to ALL of my devoted reviewers! (Readers, sorry, I don't know who you are!)

Jake Caldefore

blackruby873

Gold is Power

rmiller92

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TGIF but only once a week

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Dragon Rider of Alagaesia

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idreamoffantasy

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Mrs.JonesPeppermintProvider

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Dark-Huntress Kyria

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Thanks again!


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